


Agreement Between Equals

by aquaselution



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Auguste is still dead I'm sorry, Eventual Romance, Gen, M/M, Marriage for Convenience, Minor Character Death, Regency (ish) AU, Uncle is evil but not that evil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6746299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquaselution/pseuds/aquaselution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damen wondered why he had been summoned to Laurent Vere Duke of Arles' rooms. An offer for his hand in marriage was definitely not what he had imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Offer

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [That regency AU that killed us all](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/194734) by Fahye. 



> Very loosely based on Fahye's Regency AU. I thought about it a lot and my brain wouldn't stop so it got out of hand and became a fic. First fic for this fandom (I resisted for so long) but hope you enjoy. "Regency (ish)" AU because it doesn't follow the actual rules of nobility and this does still take place in a world that is not Earth. But hey! Nobility!

Damen sat on one of the armchairs in the receiving room to Laurent Vere Duke of Arles' bedchambers and wondered why he had been summoned. He briefly thanked a servant who had poured his tea and pushed a plate of Veretian pastries (tiny things that could only fill him if he'd consumed a dozen) towards him. Given that Charls supplied the cloth that graced Arles' beautiful frame, Damen had frequented the Veretian manor. But business was mostly confined to the Duke's offices, never in his chambers. Damen doubted that the Duke who was intensely private received anyone in his chambers past relatives, guards and attendants.

He heard the door open followed by footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He stood up in courtesy as Laurent of Arles, garbed in dark blue, joined him.

Arles flicked a fine wrist and bade Damen to sit.

As Damen dropped to his seat, Arles sampled an eclair from the plate on the table and settled on the armchair across Damen. He assumed his usual relaxed pose, one leg pushed out, wrists balanced on the chair's arms.

He gazed at Damen lazily as if nothing were more normal than having Damen in his quarters. Damen braced himself. He knew Laurent well enough to know that everything the Duke did was calculated and deliberate. He just did not understand what he could have in addition to different types of fine cloth that Laurent might use for something.

"Have you tried the lemon tarte, Mr. Sauvettere?" Arles asked. "It's one of Cook's specialties."

"I have, thank you."

A pause and then, "How is Charls?"

"Not any better since your last visit, Your Grace. Paschal is afraid that Charls' health will keep turning for the worst."

Arles picked up his cup of tea and peered at Damen as he brought it to his lips. "You must be sorry to see him thus."

"Of course. I am deeply indebted to him." Damen narrowed his eyes. He wondered at the intention behind this small talk. He had no doubt Arles had the means apart from inviting Damen into his receiving room to be updated about a cloth trader's health.

Another pause. Arles gently set his teacup on the table, his blonde eyelashes not flicking. He then fixed his sharp blue eyes on Damen.

"I invited you so that I might ask for your hand in marriage."

Whatever little Damen had imagined about Arles' reasons had not included an offer for his hand. He stared at Arles as if he had not heard the Duke properly.

"Shall I repeat myself?"

Damen inclined his head to look at Arles better. "I admit I do not understand where you are coming from."

Arles lifted an arm to rest his elbow on the chair's arm and to prop his head on his hand, his gaze not leaving Damen.

"I turn twenty-one this spring," Arles said in a casual tone. "I have just found my father's will and discovered that he wished to have me wed by then or I shall find myself unable to inherit the family fortune and be stripped of my title. My Uncle will certainly take advantage of this and strictly enforce my father's wishes."

The complications of Arles' relationship with his uncle was not unknown to Damen. He knew that the uncle kept the manor and the dukedom running, as was the rule for the kingdom: that no one could be independent until the age of twenty-one - not even nobility.

But that did not explain why Arles had chosen Damen for his purpose. "I hardly believe you are offering to a mere merchant, with no title attached to his name, to be your husband. I am quite certain other nobility would be more suitable... and more willing."

"I have no need for another title. I will not be wanting of fortune either. What I want is someone who will not attempt to slit my throat and run away with my title and money."

"How are you sure I will not attempt to steal what is yours? Besides, I do not think this kind of agreement was what your father had in mind. He must have been thinking of your line of succession. Providing heirs for you is not... within my capacity."

Arles looked as if he had long prepared to counter any of Damen's objections. "You are honest. You have never given me less than my money's worth. You do not engage in idle gossip. I believe you will not abuse your position." He raised his head and rested both his arms along his chair. "My father, thankfully, did not stipulate the sex of my spouse in his will. But I am sure there are ways by which you could provide me heirs."

Damen raised a brow.

"This is purely marriage de convenance. Consummation will not be necessary seeing as we cannot provide heirs between the two of us. I am aware that you will have needs. You will therefore be allowed certain liberties. You may take lovers. Any child that will come up from your indulgences will be heirs to my title... Unless,” Arles said slowly, “You have a lover at the moment who will be against this kind of arrangement?"

Ylona's red hair, green eyes and delicate skin flashed in Damen's mind. But what he and Ylona shared were simply an arrangement in bed and a certain kind of friendship. "There is no lover." Damen thought he saw a brief upturn at the corners of Arles' lips. "But all you have proposed benefit you. What shall I get if I agreed?"

"My full support for your trade," Arles said matter of factly. "We will trade openly with the other duchies and kingdoms. The business will be treated like one of my own, but it will not be taken away from your name. In addition to that, you will have your own retinue, my men, my ships, to do trade. All that I have, I will share with you."

Damen knitted his brows. It was an all too generous an offer. What further confused Damen was how prepared Arles had been with this negotiation, as if his mind had been long been set on Damen. "Your offer is certainly attractive. But what will I have to do in addition to marrying you? I hope you don't think I will be a malleable husband to you."

Arles' lips quirked in amusement. His gaze raked at Damen once from head to foot in a slow manner. "I would hardly call you malleable, my dear tradesman. Excluding the matters in bed, you will be asked to perform the functions of a duke's spouse. You may be asked to decide certain matters with me and make appearances as my husband as needed." His gaze lingered on Damen. "Do you need time to think?"

"A week."

Arles nodded. "A week. And then I shall send for you again." He got up and held out a hand to shake Damen's, like a common merchant making a deal with another. "I will have Jord show you out." He pulled the cord at a bell on the table beside him before grabbing what looked like the day's gazette. Arles sat back on his chair, crossed his legs and peeled the paper open, holding it up such that Damen could see the day's headline.

"Shall I escort you, sir?"

Damen heard Jord's voice but did not pay attention. His eyes had been caught by the headline written in bold cursive hand.

"Sir?"

Probably hearing Jord's repeated inquiry, Arles looked over his paper and eyed Damen questioningly. Following Damen's eyes, Arles flipped the gazette close and read the headline. "The Duchess of Ios is finally expecting. How long has it been since she lost her first love?" He sounded flippant. "Three years? I hadn't expected her to marry her lost love's brother." He lifted his head to look at Damen. "Do you follow news about the Akielon family?"

Damen felt his jaws tighten. "I know just about as much as everyone else." He forced his eyes away from the paper.

Arles nodded. "Jord, kindly show Mr. Sauvettere to the stables."

***

Damen who would not have agreed to Laurent's preposterous offer until he saw news of Jokaste being with child promised to help the Duke of Arles three days earlier than the end of the time frame he had been allowed. The promise of trade had been tempting but the promise of men, even more so. Damen acknowledged that the only reason he was still stuck in Arles was that he had no men to rally for his cause, and Laurent had unwittingly offered him exactly what he needed.

Damen had, however, demanded a written contract for the arrangement so that Laurent would not go back on his word. Any infraction to their agreement would result in its dissolution albeit not of the marriage. It would have been a moot point, but Laurent had additionally written that Damen would have a fair share of Laurent's men and Laurent's fortune even after the dissolution of the agreement.

The final deal, which included Damen's free rein on his trade where all the profits would end up in Damen's personal account, and his right to choose whomever he wanted to bed, admittedly felt entirely too biased to Damen's concerns. But Arles had seemed to sign it without thought because all Arles needed was the marriage and not a speck of dirt in his family's good name.

Thence followed the preparations for the wedding, which could only be performed within a month at the soonest. The first to know of the marriage was Arles' uncle who surveyed Damen coldly and Arles suspiciously as Damen and Arles expressed their desire to marry.

"Whatever my nephew has promised you will not be honored. He is in the habit of lying." The Earl of Chastillon, Uncle to the Duke of Arles, said coldly as if the Duke whom he had just accused of falsity were not in the same room.

Damen tried not to be intimidated by the Earl who, although lower in rank had been in his age and manner more authoritative than the Duke. At the back of his head, he tried to recall how the uncle had come to his own title, how he must have pleased the King to be granted his own land, which was unusual for a second son. If it were common perhaps Kastor would have found a way, not that it would be as easy for an older son born outside of wedlock.

"I shall be the judge of that," Damen said after a long moment of silence.

"Bound in marriage? Truly? You might eventually find yourself wanting to get out."

"And what of the Duke of Arles? Should I let him be left penniless and stripped of a title?"

"It is his fault for being too dislikeable."

Which, while not entirely untrue, was still an exaggeration. Damen knew many people who would want to throw a leg over the Duke of Arles. He was perhaps among the most attractive men in court with his rare coloring and androgynous looks. Damen shot a glance at Arles who for his part did not seem as if he had just been insulted. His hair was a golden halo as it reflected sunlight streaming from the window. His full red lips, as usual, were drawn into a thin line. The tilt in his delicate bone structure and the glint in his uncaring blue eyes gave off the impression of immense boredom.

But Damen acknowledged that no one would really want to marry the Duke of Arles out of pure love. Arles possessed a singular brilliant mind that made him a dangerous companion. Anyone who willingly married Arles was someone willingly entering a nest of vipers - something Damen sincerely hoped he was not doing. But since he had let himself be roped into the matters of the Vere family, Damen knew he had voluntarily done so already.

"You do acknowledge that this is not a romantic match?" Chastillon asked, both eyebrows raised.

"We have reached a mutual agreement to marry. Some have married for less."

"And it benefits you as well? Not just my selfish nephew here?"

"It does, my lord."

Chastillon folded his fingers together and leaned forward. "You may still change your mind if my nephew proves to be so unpleasant. Let him learn his lesson."

"What lesson might that be?" Arles drawled.

"That arrogance, impertinence and incompetence will be your downfall."

"As I am not incompetent, I do not see myself failing." He slowly got to his feet and touched Damen's arm. "Shall we go? Or are you changing your mind?"

Damen nodded to the Earl and followed Arles out of the office.

Arles was silent as they walked back to Arles' office.

"You like taunting your Uncle. Perhaps if you didn't he would be less inclined to see you impoverished." Damen watched Arles settle behind the huge oak desk in the room which Damen considered familiar enough.

Arles threw Damen a sharp, dark glare. "He would see me destroyed even if I had been obedient."

He slid a tray containing a wine bottle and a silver goblet towards Damen and said, "Help yourself. Rochert will be here shortly to help us write down the list of people to invite to our wedding."

Damen never said no to wine, particularly the one that Arles served. For some reason, Arles whom Damen never saw drink alcohol, had a stock of wine from Delpha which happened to be Damen's favorite. He poured wine for himself as Arles poured water in another silver goblet.

"Unless you have changed your mind and decided to take my Uncle's advice?" His fingers played with the foot of the goblet.

Damen frowned. He did not like having his word repeatedly questioned. "I have already signed the contract. I honor my promises."

Arles' shoulders relaxed, and only then did Damen realize that the Duke had been holding himself in tension since they entered the room, or perhaps since the Earl's office. Arles must be so desperate to worry this much. Damen never knew Arles to be any less than confident in the decisions he made. The title must mean more to Arles than even his own peace of mind.

Rochert arrived shortly. They all decided that the wedding would be small and quiet, witnessed by few of Arles' relatives and some of Damen's friends. They both hoped that Charls would still be around to witness it. Some of the nobility had been invited as a matter of courtesy, but Arles pointed out that very few would oblige their invitation. To most people on the list, a month was not enough to construct a wardrobe suitable for a wedding as well as travelling to Arles which was too far north. That certainly excluded the Duke and Duchess of Ios from the wedding who lived too far south and would have to take either a fortnight on the road or a week at sea.

Damen had given up all the logistic decisions to Arles who had a fine mind for details. Besides, if Arles needed Damen so much he would deal with all the headache that a full wedding ceremony would entail.

"Red, gold and purple would look best on him," Arles declared as they were on the (to Damen's mind) trivial topic of clothing. "Red and gold jacket, dark red breeches," he dictated to Rochert.

"How about the purple, Your Grace?" Rochert inquired, his quill raised.

"The robe, for the bathing ritual."

Damen could feel the intensity of Laurent's gaze on him.

"You would supply cloth for free for your own wedding, wouldn't you Damen?"

Damen blinked. That was new. Arles had always addressed him as Mr. Sauvettere. The soubriquet added a new reality to Damen's situation. That he was expected to wed and be intimate with the Duke of Arles in less than four weeks.

"Naturally, Your Grace."

"Laurent."

"That's not appropriate. You are the one with the title. Even spouses address their husbands with titles."

"You will ascend to Marquis of Arles, and we cannot call each other 'Arles', so we shall address each other by name," Laurent said simply. His voice almost sounded as if he we're trying to wave Damen off.

"All right, Your - Laurent."

At that, Laurent's lips curled up. He nodded in satisfaction and turned to Rochert. "Now, the menu. After that, the music."

***

Between taking care of business (which Damen still regarded as Charls' despite everyone telling him that he would inherit) and regular runs to the Veretian manor, Damen thought he would end up in a sickbed as well before he could marry Laurent. Damen was not entirely opposed to that if it delayed the wedding.

Laurent had been exacting and demanding in all details for the ceremonies. For something that was rushed and purely for convenience, he surprisingly wanted it perfect. But then he was one who never settled for anything short of perfect - at least not if he had his hand in it - and he drove everyone, including Damen, out of their minds with all his plans. After the fourth time Damen had gone to taste the cook's proposed menu and after Laurent complained about the food (too salty about the gravy, too sweet about one of the flans), Damen told Cook that "It tastes perfect" earning him a scathing look from Laurent.

Cook blinked nervously at Laurent over the table where the samplings of the meal had been served.

"Just one more try," Laurent told Cook. "If Mr. Sauvettere here still thinks the next set is perfect, then it would be served at our wedding banquet."

"You're being a bit too picky," Damen pointed out. "It's not as if it would be a ceremony to remember."

"I'm only going to be married once, regardless of reason," Laurent said, lazily setting himself down onto a divan in his receiving room which Damen had too frequently visited recently. "I don't want it to be mediocre."

"A flan that's a tad too sweet for you is not going to make it mediocre."

Laurent looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. "I'm glad you're not the one making decisions. If it were so, all we'd serve at table would be steak, apricots and wine."

"Simplicity does not equate to imperfection," Damen said pointedly. "How did you know I like apricots?"

The question seemed to take Laurent aback. Laurent blinked and said, "Whenever we serve apricots and cream, you always ask for another serving."

Damen flushed. He had at times wondered why apricots were always served whenever he were invited to dine with Laurent, even when apricots were off-season. But Damen did not flatter himself that Laurent did so especially for him. Perhaps it was only Laurent's hospitality as host that obliged him to serve what his guests liked best. Damen would not put it beyond Laurent to serve his guests favorite food so that he might earn their favor to suit his future plans.

“Will you sit?” Laurent said, waving an impatient hand. “We have another matter to settle.”

“I would have thought you had already planned for all eventualities,” Damen quipped, but he sat anyway.

Laurent ignored his gibe. “I would like you to decide how you’d like to arrange your quarters. Naturally you would be put on the same wing as mine.”

“I was under the impression that I would be allowed to stay at Charls’.”

“You would be. But not necessarily as home. Besides, it is hardly fit for a Marquis. And with your new status, you will be safest here.”

That was a fair point.

"I do not believe there's any threat to my person." Damen proclaimed, at least not as long as he stayed within Arles or that no one painted him and sent the canvas straight to Ios.

"None to you but definitely plenty for me. You are in danger as the wedding draws near and as long as you do not seem to be backing out. And even after that, they might use you against me."

"How do you suppose they would do that?"

"Capture you for ransom."

Damen raised a brow. "I can scarcely believe that after all this trouble you would trade your duchy for me."

Something strange crossed Laurent's face, and he breathed loudly. "Just in case," he said after a long pause, "Don't allow them to tempt me."

"I can protect myself."

"Damen."

This was one of the rare moments when Laurent looked truly bothered, and Damen failed to understand why. "Do you truly think your Uncle will harm me?"

"He will remove everyone in his way."

"He has his own title, his own lands, his own money. He has no reason to -"

"Ours is an old, noble name. The Duke of Arles is in the King's inner circle, as a privilege to our family. Our fortune has also been here for centuries. His title as Earl is nothing compared to what he will gain if he put me out of the way. "

That left Damen appalled. How could men harm their own blood to get power? Even after all he had been thru, after the betrayal that he himself had faced, he still could not understand what made men want to kill their own family. But, he supposed after all his own experience, he should sympathize more with Laurent.

"If you do not wish to leave Charls alone, that can easily be arranged," Laurent said, misinterpreting Damen's silence.

"When do you wish me to move?"

"As soon as you are able. I will send men to help you pack your belongings and help bring Charls here as well. If you wish, I can have the rooms ready by tonight."

"Tomorrow. My belongings will be ready tomorrow. But Charls' house will be my workshop."

"Then I will assign guards there."

Acclimatizing to his new quarters did not take long. Damen was used to having more than his old room and office at Charls', and admittedly he liked the comforts of being in the Veretian manor. Moreover, here he was more certain that Charls would be given the best treatment with Paschal, the family physician of the Veres, just a ring of a bell away. He also did not have to go riding back and forth to the manor to comply with Laurent's requests.

But what irked him about the arrangement was how Laurent treated Damen's quarters like an extension of his own. Damen woke up one morning to Laurent having coffee on _Damen’s_ table in _Damen’s_ bedroom. He looked completely comfortable as he read the day’s gazette, already immaculately dressed in riding clothes of his usual dark colors, his golden hair in a braid that had been swiped over one shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Damen growled, getting out of bed and dragging the sheets with him to cover himself. He slept in the nude, and he was not certain how much Laurent had seen. For the sake of his own sense of propriety, Damen tried not to dwell on it.

Laurent raised a brow and jerked his head pointedly to Damen’s waist. “Shy? I am not a blushing bride. I do not flush at the sight of another male body.”

“Pray, tell, when have you last seen a naked male apart from your own?” Damen snapped, not liking having to spar words with Laurent so early in the morning. Laurent who isolated himself from human contact as much as possible was known to never have taken a lover, which contributed to half of Damen’s surprise when Laurent had offered for him.

“This morning, while you slept,” Laurent said casually.

That soured Damen’s mood further. Damen sank back down to his bed. “What are you doing here?” he pressed again.

“Might I not visit my fiance in the morning?”

“If you were female, you would not be allowed into your fiance's rooms at all. What do you want?”

Laurent shrugged one shoulder. “I realized that I haven’t yet shown you around your new home. As both your host and fiance, I’d be remiss in my duties if I continued this neglect. Dress to ride. I will wait for you in the stables.”

Damen took his time dressing. Young, arrogant Laurent could wait. He had warned Laurent that he would not be a submissive spouse, and he could start showing Laurent now. He slowly made his way to the stables, where, to his surprise, Laurent was grooming (and was he _murmuring to?_ ) his horse.

Laurent turned around probably at the sound of the crunch of Damen's soles on the ground and remarked, “Took you long enough.”

“I don't like being disturbed in the morning,” was Damen's simple reply. He approached his own horse, and started leading it out of the stables. Laurent followed behind with his own horse. “Your plan?”

“We shall make a circuit of our training grounds,” Laurent said, swinging himself in one fluid motion to the back of his horse that made Damen raise a brow. “And then around the hunting grounds surrounding Arles. We come back in time for breakfast at the gardens. Then I show you around the manor itself.”

Laurent's men, including Jord and Orlant – the two most familiar with Damen – trained regularly at a courtyard East of the manor. Damen estimated around two hundred guards, which spoke of the value of Arles to the kingdom. Damen supposed that this only consisted the ones who stayed within the manor, and would thus be a mere fraction of the Arles guard. This, Damen thought, would be a great help for him in a campaign against his brother.

“You could join them if you like,” Laurent said offhandedly. “Are you trained? Jord could teach you if you aren't, I suppose.”

Damen was, in fact, trained. Very well too. He had, in the past three years, stowed his sword in his trunk and practiced his swordmanship at the dead of the night in one of the empty rooms of Charls' house. But Laurent did not need to know that right now. Damen would definitely join Laurent's guards in training. He supposed he could slowly display a few skills, but not what he actually knew. He did not want to be inviting questions of where or how he had learned the finer techniques of swordplay. “I will take you up in that offer.” He smiled slightly and added, “Do you train with them?”

“With Jord and Orlant,” Laurent said quickly. Damen was not sure what that implied of Laurent's skills. Laurent of course would have been trained by the best swordmasters growing up. Auguste, Laurent's deceased brother, had been Damen's equal. But skill with the sword was not quite hereditary, and where Auguste was muscled, Laurent was on the leaner side. Laurent's style would have to be different from Auguste's who had natural strength and power.

The part of the forest surrounding Arles was rich with old, large trees. There was plenty of shrubbery as well where small game could hide. “We're going to open this for a hunt a few days before the wedding. You and I will have to join,” Laurent said bitterly.

Damen knew why Laurent had used that tone. Laurent had lost his brother when he was fifteen in a hunting accident, not in Arles but in Chastillon. But hunting was one of the nobility's favorite sports, and as much as Laurent disliked the activity he would still have to make a show, given how rich the woods were in these parts.

“I'm sure one of us could stay behind and entertain the rest of the guests. I can join the hunt,” Damen said, getting to his horse after they had let their horses graze and drink.

“You hunt?” Laurent asked, and Damen knew he had given something important away. He did not think merchants had the luxury of hunting.

“I could. Potentially.”

“While I like your proposal,” Laurent said as he brought his horse to an idle canter, “I'm not going to let you lend yourself to disaster too close to the wedding.”

“Better one of us dying than both,” Damen pointed out. “And better me than you so that you might still have a shot at your inheritance.” He let Laurent mull over the notion.

“You're really helping me,” Laurent said, not asking but stating.

“That is what I'm here for, is it not?” Damen asked.

“I am not asking you to risk your life.”

Laurent, Damen thought, had this inordinate fear for Damen's life, which Damen did not understand. Damen saw himself as Laurent's tool to secure his fortune and title, but Laurent's continuous concern for his life was inconsistent with the role that Damen saw himself playing in Laurent's plans.

“I'm risking my life by agreeing to marry you. Put guards on me if that makes you feel better,” Damen suggested.

Damen was aware that Laurent regarded him thoughtfully for a few long moments. “All right.”

**to be continued~**


	2. Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's actually so much pressure because you guys seem to have high expectations, and it's a spin off to Fahye's. @.@ But I hope I don't disappoint. Not too much anyway.
> 
> But, anyway, here's our Hercules-Achilles-Damianos Akielos.

Volunteering to be the diversion for the Earl of Chastillon's plans to get his nephew disinherited had been, in retrospect, a stupid idea. Damen thought that as an arrow hissed too close to his ears when the chamois he had been chasing had long galloped out of sight. He whirled around and spotted a hooded figure on horseback a few yards behind him. Given how he had thoughtlessly chased the dogs that had been barking after a chamois, Damen had left the rest of the hunting party and had isolated himself, open to an attack. He urged his horse to clop at full speed to put distance between himself and the attacker, who irritatingly managed to keep pace after Damen.

Another arrow shot past Damen's shoulder. Damen whirled his horse around, clear-headed amidst the threat to his life. He sent his horse in full throttle toward the hooded man. Damen was unarmed. His attacker might not miss again, but Damen took his chance.

His attacker pulled another arrow and was about to nock it into his bow when Damen charged, using an extended arm to knock the attacker off his horse. Damen swung himself off his horse and landed on top of the hooded man. He pinned the man’s shoulders onto the ground, and, blocking the man's throat with an arm, Damen ripped the hood off the man's head and saw an unfamiliar face. “Who sent you?”

The man tried to wriggle free of Damen's hold but was no match for Damen's size. And Damen suspected he had been hired for skill with an arrow and not for other aspects of attack. Damen pressed him back. “Who sent you?” He roared again.

“Sir!”

Damen did not need to turn to know Orlant had arrived to help him. Grabbing the collar of his attacker, he hefted the man to a kneeling position and let Orlant tie the man's arms in ropes. After Orlant had thrown the man on the back of his horse, they all went back to the manor and sent out messengers to call off the hunt.

Laurent, not surprisingly, had been the first to meet Damen on the latter's return. His eyes were wide and they ran over the disarray that was Damen quickly, as if assessing the damage on Damen's body.

Damen knew he had dirt all over his clothes. He might have scratches on his knees from the brief scuffle on the rough ground. But otherwise he was unharmed.

“What happened?” Laurent demanded.

Orlant arrived shortly, dragging Damen's attacker by the arm.

“I don't know whose man this is,” Damen said coldly. “You might want to interrogate him further.”

Laurent shifted his gaze to Orlant. The latter started explaining, “Mr. Sauvettere veered away from the party. I had a hard time catching up. When I found him, he had already thrown this man to the dirt. Some arrows are missing from his quiver.”

“Charging an archer barehanded, Damen?” Laurent asked coldly.

“He's not a very good archer.”

Damen was aware of Laurent's gaze fixed heavily on him. Laurent took a deep breath and turned to Orlant, “Let Jord interrogate him.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Damen watched Orlant drag the attacker out of sight. “I need a drink,” Damen said, and started walking past Laurent towards the entryway to the manor.

Laurent fell on step alongside Damen, but Laurent was quiet, his arms crossed on his chest. Damen could almost hear Laurent think in the silence. Laurent followed when Damen headed for his quarters and sent an attendant for food as Damen stripped off his riding jacket.

Damen crossed his room to a chair and poured himself a cup of wine and then another. Laurent sat across him, still deep in thought.

“Shall I send for Paschal as well?” Laurent asked after a long time.

“No. I'm just in need of a bath.”

“I did warn you.”

“You did,” Damen said. “Now go back to your guests. They must be wondering what happened. Let me just take a bath and join you, after.”

Laurent did not move.

“What is it?” Damen asked, irritated now. He was used to a detached, decisive Laurent. He did not know how to deal with this silent, thoughtful Laurent.

Damen saw a muscle slide along Laurent's jaw. “Auguste was found dead with a hunting spear in his heart.”

Damen quickly raised his head, but schooled his expression to a more neutral one. Auguste, two years older than him, had been his friend. They had gone to the same boarding school, and had been among the best at sports. They had gone on late-night escapades as students and had been in constant communication even after Auguste had left school. All Damen knew of Auguste's death was that it was deemed a hunting accident. The way Laurent spoke about it did not suggest anything of an accident.

“I did not think my Uncle would use the same tactic to dispose of my fiance as he had my brother.”

“Your Uncle.” Damen absorbed the information and hated the Earl of Chastillon more for the betrayal of Auguste, gold, majestic Auguste, than for the threat to his own life. “Do you have proof?”

“No. Not enough to accuse him and have him executed.”

Damen pressed his lips. He did not remember meeting the young Laurent, then only the second son of the Duke of Arles, far enough from the succession that he could be left home when his Father and brother left for court or for diplomatic trips. But Auguste had always spoken fondly of a younger brother who had a mind so sharp it could cut diamond. There was, Auguste had once proclaimed, no puzzle Laurent could not solve.

“You have not given up your search,” Damen said. He could tell how the brothers had been devoted to each other. Auguste was one who easily inspired loyalty, with his warm smiles and honest heart. Damen had long considered that the young Laurent must have put his older brother in a pedestal.

Laurent shook his head. “No. And if I can't accuse him of murdering my brother, he is guilty of another crime.”

Damen wondered when these surprises would stop.

“He poisoned my father under the guise of an illness. It was long and slow, and Paschal can prove it was poison.”

Closing his eyes, Damen started wondering if it would be wise to actually take back his word and not join this family any more. He had his own snake of a relative to deal with. He did not need another. But, he told himself, he needed Laurent's men. He needed this to get back what was his. It was only fair that he would let himself be used by Laurent to defeat the Earl of Chastillon the way he planned on using the machinery Laurent had offered to beat his brother. Besides, if Laurent's claims were true, Damen would be honoring the memory of his old friend by helping Laurent.

“Do you want to use me as pawn then in this fight with your Uncle?”

Again, Laurent's reaction was not what Damen had expected. Laurent's eyes widened in disbelief as if he had never thought to do as Damen had suggested. “I just want you to be aware so that you might be more careful. No more leaping off horses unarmed. If you need anything to protect yourself, speak with Jord.”

* * *

Nothing untoward, thankfully, happened after the hunting incident. The hired archer continued to be silent, probably paid and threatened to do so, and could therefore not be linked to the Earl of Chastillon. Laurent had heightened security around both Damen and Charls and had supplied Damen a satisfying new sword, which Jord had suggested after a quick assessment of Damen's aptitude for swordsmanship. Wedding preparations took most of Damen's and Laurent's time, and Damen was not sure if he liked it more than having a brawl with another of Chastillon's hired men.

The morning of the wedding, Damen was woken up by his new valet to be bathed and dressed in the purple silk robe that Laurent had chosen for him. Damen was amused by the fuss on his unruly hair and on the robe when he was being prepared only to be bathed again by Laurent in one of the extensive marriage rituals.

Damen let himself be led and uncomfortably confined in a carriage, which drove to a temple in the heart of Arles. He was made to wait right outside the ceremony room – a sacred bathhouse – the inside of which was obscured from his view by red and gold curtains until a runner told his valet that Laurent had also arrived and Damen was beckoned to enter.

Damen felt arrested in place when he saw Laurent at the other end of a round pool of gently steaming water that smelled faintly of roses and chamomile. Laurent was clad in a blue silk robe similar in cut to Damen's. His hair was adorned with beads of diamonds and sapphires that broke sunlight in different hues and made all the occupants of the room – the priestesses, the two members of the King's council, and the guards – want to fix their eyes on Laurent. It was loosely braided and went just past his shoulder.

Damen had to fight the heat that started to gather below his abdomen as he watched Laurent unlace his robe and let it hit the marble, leaving only a loincloth around his groin. Laurent's body had been crafted as perfectly as his face. While his body was not half as heavily muscled as Damen's, his arms, legs, thighs and stomach were well-toned and suggested regular exercise. His skin was flawless, from the elegant column of his throat to the thin ankles of his feet. When Laurent stepped into the water, his pristine skin flushed from the heat.

Perhaps to suit the occasion, Laurent had dispensed with his usual stern expression and replaced it with peaceful reverence, his eyes wide, his full lips parted slightly. He looked like a dream: young, bright, ethereal.

“Mr. Sauvettere?”

Damen realized he had paused halfway through descending the steps into the pool. Laurent had tilted his head, and a small, indistinct smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched Damen. It was gone when Damen thought to look again.

One of the priestesses on the marble floor who was perhaps the presider of the ceremonies read words of the ritual from an old, brown leatherbound book while Damen and Laurent stood in the center of the pool, hands on each other. Laurent's hand on his were light and warm.

“A lock of hair, given to one's spouse symbolizes surrender and ownership.”

A young girl, garbed in bathing robes, approached, holding a tray with a small knife whose hilt had been etched with ancient runes. She handed it first to Damen who let go of Laurent's hands and took the knife. He brought it to the end of Laurent's braid and sliced off a golden lock which he placed delicately on the silver tray. Damen had to bow so that Laurent could do the same, cutting a lock of hair that fell down Damen's forehead.

The girl bowed and left the pool.

“The oil symbolizes fealty. Swear loyalty to each other by annointing each other with oil.”

Another girl brought in two miniature pitchers of sweet smelling oil. Damen and Laurent each took one.

“First,” started the priestess, “On the head so that your spouse may remember his sworn oath to you. Next on the shoulders so that he might stay with you in times of trial. Last across the chest, so that his heart might beat for no other.”

After having poured oil on each other, Damen and Laurent set the empty pitchers on the girl's tray. The girl moved out and another came to take her place. On her small tray was a shallow pitcher.

“Water symbolizes vitality of life. Annoint each other with water that runs from this pool as a sign that you will surrender your whole life and all your strength to your spouse.”

Laurent first dropped to his knees. Damen scooped water from the pool and poured it on Laurent. Damen passed the pitcher to Laurent and let himself be annointed with water as well.

The girl set aside her pitcher and another came in her place. She put Laurent's and Damen's hands on each other.

“Love is the soul of a marriage. Please kiss each other as a symbol of your love.”

Damen stared at Laurent. They had both known this was coming. It was a requisite part of the ritual. But they had never talked about it. Damen took a deep breath and leaned forward. As though in welcome, Laurent tilted his head and accepted the kiss.

It was barely a kiss. Their lips touched. That was it. When Damen straightened up, he saw that Laurent's skin was a deep red, perhaps from the effort of kneeling on the pool's marble floor and from the water's heat.

They were both dressed again in the ritual robes, and transported together back to the manor together in the carriage that had brought Damen in. Laurent was uncharacteristically silent during the ride, his head propped on his hand watching the scenery that they passed, and Damen did not have the inclination to talk. The flush of Laurent's skin still had not abated.

The next set of ceremonies would take place late in the afternoon, which gave Damen time to visit Charls after lunch. Charls looked paler than ever, but he had asked an attendant to pile pillows on his back so that he might sit.

“I am sorry I cannot make it to the wedding,” Charls rasped as Damen sat on the chair on Charls’ bedside. “His Grace was just here. I already gave him my apologies.’

Damen patted Charls' frail hands. “We would rather have you well-rested.”

“I believe that His Grace will take care of you, and I cannot hope for anyone better for someone I regard as my son.”

Damen pressed his lips. Laurent must have lied his way through the brief visit with Charls. Charls had been too weak to be informed that this marriage was only based on mutual agreement, not love. But even so, Damen would have thought that Charls knew Laurent enough to think that Laurent's affection was not easily given, if given at all. 

“Take good care of him. He has had no one to care for him in a long, long time.”

Knowing what he knew now, Damen could agree at least to this. He had made the same promise to himself in honor of Auguste. “I will do my best.”

Charls had started coughing again, and Damen had no choice but to let Charls rest. When he reached his room, he realized that he should stop being surprised to see Laurent occupying Damen's private space. Laurent would probably abuse this privilege for the rest of their time together.

“Are you speaking now?” Damen asked, settling on the settee across Laurent’s armchair.

“What?” Laurent snapped.

“You have not spoken since the baths. Tell me what got your tongue tied so that I might use it in the future.”

“Do you find my chatter so irksome?” Laurent asked icily.

Damen felt himself grinning. “Frankly, no.”

The words made Laurent blink and part his lips wordlessly. Damen rather liked how he could render Laurent speechless sometimes.

“Your business here?” Damen asked.

“I -” Laurent took a moment to collect himself, and the fact baffled Damen. He took too long before he said, “I just thought to make sure you have everything ready and that you are not backing out.”

“I only need to bring my gift and myself, don’t I? We’re already half-bound at the temple. I am not backing out.”

“Good.” Laurent said with a cool nod before getting to his feet and leaving Damen’s quarters. Puzzled, Damen followed Laurent with his eyes and shook his head. Laurent was beyond his understanding.

The red and gold jacket that Laurent had ordered for Damen must have the most complicated designs among all the clothes Damen had ever worn. The golden embroidery went in a dizzying series of patterns that he could not even begin to decipher. It was one of those things that Nikandros, Earl of Delpha, would call “clothing that makes one look like tapestry” that the Northerners seemed so fond of. Damen would never have worn it back in Ios; he rarely even wore jackets in Ios because of the warm climate.

His valet led him out to the massive oak doors of the Great Hall at mid-afternoon. Guests, a few courtiers and some of Damen’s friends from the clothing trade, had been seated in cushioned chairs facing the dais at the far end of the hall. Damen was to walk up to the dais and stand in front of Herode, King’s Councillor and minister of the ceremonies, before Laurent arrived.

Damen felt eyes on him as he approached the dais. He was a stranger in these parts of the kingdom. Having not yet ascended to his title, his role had been (as was his choice) limited to overseeing his father’s army and military duty at the borders of Ios. He had performed little diplomatic function, which had been delegated to Kastor. That, in hindsight, had been a mistake. On the trips to the different parts of the kingdom, Kastor had steadily gained supporters, and that made it impossible for Damen to get Ios back without a veritable amount of money and number of men.

Having little contact with nobility, especially from the North, Damen did not recognize most of the courtiers that had attended. That at least assured him that his cover was safe. He had also started wearing his hair long in favor of northern fashion. Less exposure to the sun had made his skin lighter, and having less of the extravagances of court and less of the combat training, he had lost some weight as well. Even people here who would have seen him once or twice enpassing would not immediately find him familiar. The sight of Damen probably simply made the guests wonder why Laurent had chosen to marry a mere merchant over a long line of noble suitors. Let them wonder. Even Damen himself could not explain why.

They did not have long to wait till the heavy oak doors opened again to bear the Duke of Arles. Gone was the youthful, almost submissive expression that Laurent had worn at the baths. He held his head high in his usual cold and distant arrogance. He was garbed in a resplendent white and gold jacket that had the same complicated embroidery as Damen’s. A royal blue cape embroidered with his insignia, a golden starburst, had been clipped to his right shoulder. A sword hung secure to his left waist. He was beautiful in a dangerous, untouchable way. This Laurent, Damen felt certain, would not be amenable to kissing Damen as a display of pretend affection. Thankfully, this ceremony was going to be infinitely less intimate than the one in the baths.

The formal wedding ceremony had not been as eventful as the one in the baths. It started with a few words of ritual from Herode, some words of wisdom and then a long series of ritualistic dialog. Damen and Laurent had been made to swear fidelity to each other in the old Artesian language. They exchanged items as symbols of their families blending into each other: Damen handed Laurent a thick wad of silk and Laurent slipped a silver ring encrusted with sapphire into Damen's ring finger (it surprisingly fit). The pact was sealed with a shared cup of wine which Laurent had forced himself to drink.

After the wedding rites came Damen's swearing into nobility as Marquis of Arles. He had been made to kneel in front of Herode, his right hand above his heart, as he read the promise that a newly established noble made to the King. Following the ceremonies was the wedding banquet. After a brief interrim, the seats in the Great Hall had been shifted and tables moved in for the dinner. A ballroom space had been left at the center of the Hall.

“Does it kill you to smile?” Damen whispered to Laurent at the corner of his lips. They had naturally been seated side by side at a table up the dais with most of the nobility. “A wedding is meant to be a happy occasion. You're ruining the mood for your guests.”

“Can you say you're happy on this day?” Laurent asked quietly, picking a piece of roast chicken that, Damen remembered, they both had tried for what must have been a thousand times before being approved for the menu.

“Not entirely. But I am content with the arrangement.”

Laurent noticeably eyed Damen askance. “Content.”

Damen frowned. He did not understand why Laurent sounded so cold about it when Laurent had been the one to make the proposal in the first place. “I benefit a lot. So do you.”

“You never had higher aspirations for a marriage?”

Once, Damen thought, he had. He had hoped to marry Lady Jokaste who now bore his brother's son. “As long as I am not restricted to whom I bed, I do not have complaints about this settlement.”

“Right.” Laurent's voice was ice. “Marriage is merely an additional burden. Why marry if you can have sex with whomever you like.”

Damen knitted his brows. He wanted to know what put Laurent in this mood. “Perhaps you're the one who's had high aspirations for marriage,” Damen remarked.

“I never intended to marry until my hand was forced.” All of a sudden, Laurent stood up. “Come. Dinner is over. We're supposed to open the ball.” Without looking back, he strolled towards the center of the Great Hall. Left with no choice, Damen followed.

For all his sharp words, Laurent had shown hesitation at resting his hands on Damen's chest. His touch was light, and his fingers trembled. “Nervous?” Damen had to bend his head when he asked.

Laurent responded by pushing Damen away as part of the dance.

Three songs later, and Laurent's face had gone pink from exertion. Damen suggested a halt to which Laurent agreed. By the time Damen had gone back to the table at the dais, Laurent had disappeared. To avoid questions on why his groom had seemed to have left him on their wedding night, Damen chose to spend the rest of the banquet with his friends from the clothing trade. He tried to forget the thought that perhaps he would spend a great part of his time dealing with Laurent's moods.

Damen left his guests at the Great Hall, feeling contentedly warm with the effects of alcohol. He spotted Jord on the hallway he shared with Laurent and asked whether or not Laurent had come back.

“No, my lord,” Jord replied. “He has gone out for a ride.”

“Alone?” Damen asked.

“Orlant is tailing him.”

“Aren't you sending more? He could be assassinated.”

“He rides within the confines of the manor. And he wanted to be alone.”

Damen nodded. No one would probably survive disturbing Laurent when the Duke wanted to be alone.

“He does that a lot,” Jord said slowly, as if he thought Damen would want to know, “When he wants to think.”

**to be continued~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberties and gave the inheriting nobility the chance for formal education (so Damen and Auguste got the chance) from the age of 12-17 (ssshhhh don't question my choices). Laurent, however, was too smart for school and had to have customized education (and was thus home-schooled). He was also not inheriting until he reached the age of fifteen.
> 
> Cookies to anyone who can tell me Laurent's secrets. ;) Thank you for reading. Update next week. I usually upload one chapter when I've got a good headstart on the chapter after it.


	3. Rumpled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making Charls sick. But I really needed that. A lot of you actually guessed Laurent's not-so-secret secret. But I'm pretty sure he has more. :P

Charls' clothing business, Damen's friends said, could take care of itself. Damen was thus forced to leave the business for a week to the capable hands of his assistant. He used that week to get accustomed to his new role, which, for the first couple of days, meant reading letters of welcome and congratulations that he dreaded replying to. Mercifully, Laurent had relieved him of that task, not allowing his husband to ruin his carefully cultivated image among the nobility.

Ever since coming to the manor, Damen had established a routine for himself. He trained with the guards in the morning, took breakfast in his rooms, went off to see to his trade, prepared for the wedding and then visited Charls. With his business and wedding preparations out of the way, Damen found himself wandering around the manor. He perused the library, inquired after his household staff and asked Orlant how Laurent conducted business.

He had been told that Laurent, who was still not twenty-one and could not fully function as a Duke, spent his mornings riding and spent the rest of the day updating himself about the demands of his people, the taxation, the finances and some of the family businesses. These were things that, in theory, only the Earl of Chastillon could handle. But Laurent had his way of getting information in addition to what the Earl gave him.

Because the wedding preparations had occupied most of Laurent's time prior to the wedding, Damen supposed that Laurent spent the days after the wedding catching up with the tasks that Laurent must have pushed back. He barely saw Laurent as he explored the manor. Five days into the marriage and they had only seen each other during a few mealtimes which they had shared with some of the guests that had stayed some days after the wedding. Laurent, who had been aloof on their wedding day did not seem inclined to explain his actions.

The arrangement should have been fine to Damen; he was fine pretending that none of the events of the wedding day had taken place. But he considered that if he were to live in the Veretian manor until he could get Ios back and if he were expected to function as a business partner to the Duke, then he and Laurent should at least be in working if not friendly terms. One of them (Damen did not think it would be Laurent) would have to initiate. Remarkably, Damen found that he did not mind the idea despite knowing how difficult Laurent's personality was. Although Laurent was sarcastic and cold, Damen was surprised to realize that Laurent had yet to truly insult Damen himself even when Laurent had a cutting remark about nearly everyone. Perhaps, Damen thought, the reason Laurent had chosen Damen for marriage was because he found Damen not as repulsive as most people at the very least and quite tolerable at best.

Damen was contemplating this while walking towards his rooms from visiting Charls when he was approached by a page (Nicaise, if he remembered correctly). Damen was abruptly informed that the Duke of Arles wanted to see him, which, considering Damen had not seen much of Laurent in the past few days, was surprising.

The page boy led him to Laurent's wing in the apartments. He would have stopped and waited at the receiving room but Jord told him that he was expected. Jord had neither knocked on the door nor announced Damen, and simply let Damen walk into Laurent's bedroom.

This was, for all the time he had spent within Laurent's rooms, the first time he had entered the bedroom. It was as lavishly furnished as the rest of the manor, colorful with the intricate patterns that the Northerners liked. Blue, Damen was not sure if Laurent chose it because it was his official color or if it were simply Laurent's favorite, dominated the rooms. Personal touches were all over the place: some books on tables and drawers, some oddities – wooden puzzles and figurines, Damen thought – on top of a drawer. Notably, one wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves of books, and at the corner near the arched, stained glass window was a work table neatly filled with writing implements and a stack of letters.

Damen's eyes found Laurent reclined on a divan with his legs across it, one leg tucked beneath the other. His hair, tied loosely with a ribbon, was a golden halo by the candlelight behind him. He had discarded his usually severe clothes in favor of a white, silk nightgown. He had a cushion on his lap, a book propped on top of it. His left hand supported the spine of the book, his other hand on one edge, ready to turn the page. Damen was suddenly reminded of how young Laurent was and of how Auguste had often said that his brother would live inside books if given the choice.

Laurent was so immersed in the book that Damen did not want to interrupt. But he could not keep standing on the arch of the doorway. He cleared his throat.

Raising his head, Laurent scanned around him and refocused his eyes. He was not surprised to see Damen. “Come in,” he said calmly. He rested his book open on top of the cushion, untucked his legs and got up, sliding his feet into white slippers. “Sit. I have a letter for you.”

Laurent, who was always in full attire, did not seem conscious of being seen only in bedclothes. But, then again, Damen reminded himself that he had seen Laurent in even less.

Damen strode to an armchair across the divan Laurent had occupied. He watched as Laurent padded to his work table, searched the pile, and sat back on his divan with a wax-sealed letter in one hand.

“The Gentleman's Club sent this. It must be an invitation.”

Damen took the letter that Laurent had handed to him. “Aren't you a member?”

“I am. But they don't want me there. I don't drink, and I'm too good with cards.” Laurent's eyes dropped to the letter that Damen still had not touched. “You should go. It's an opportunity to meet new buyers of your cloth. You may also avail of certain pleasures.”

Laurent meant women. The Gentleman's Club everywhere was a way for the male nobility and gentry to come together and enjoy themselves without the risk of their spouses knowing. The spouses very likely knew what was going on, but the members never tattled about each other's secrets.

“It would also help you know your way around court. Build alliances and identify enemies.”

Those, Damen thought, were probably Laurent's reasons for joining the Club when, being an ascetic, he had no use for the more usual privileges of membership. Damen, however, nodded. “I'll join. Is that all?”

Laurent leaned back on his seat, and watched Damen for a long while. “I wondered if you need to be instructed in the etiquette expected of nobility?”

Damen would have taken that for an insult. He had been taught etiquette, as his governesses put it, “fit for royalty” nearly all his life. But since Laurent did not know that, Damen only shook his head. “I believe I can manage.”

“However, you would have to be acquainted with the nobility you would normally encounter in these parts. I don't expect you or Charls directly deal with more than a handful.”

To this, at least, Damen agreed. He knew most of the nobility by name and location, but not personally. Knowing them and their affiliations would be beneficial for him in his bid for his title. He could slowly build up their trust and gain their support. He would also know who were on Kastor's side. “Yes, that would be useful.”

Laurent nodded his head coolly. “I'll see to it myself. When do you suppose you have the time?”

“In the mornings. Where do you take breakfast?”

The question made Laurent's eyes widen for a nearly unnoticeable moment. “In my rooms. After my ride.”

“We could discuss it over breakfast,” Damen said decisively.

“Your room has a balcony overlooking the East garden,” Laurent started. “It is...” he paused as if he were having a hard time pushing out the words, “lovely at this time of the year.”

“I did notice.” Damen wanted to ask if he had been given the usual rooms taken by the past Duchesses (he had not known the Veres to take male spouse in recent history, but some did have male lovers).

“I'll have breakfast prepared before you return from the training grounds.” He tilted his head inquiringly. “Unless you object?”

Damen, who had just been wondering how to start a more benevolent relationship with Laurent, had no objections. “It is suitable for me.” Damen got to his feet. “Good night.”

Damen had already taken a few steps towards the door before he heard Laurent say, “Good night.”

* * *  
Damen rolled his shoulders as he walked into his rooms. His muscles bluntly reminded him of exactly how long he had been deprived of proper practice. While the past three years had not reduced his skills, it had left him sore after a morning's work out with Jord and Orlant, the only two among Laurent's men who did not fall to the dust within five minutes of parrying with Damen. The pain had been infinitely worse the first week Damen joined the training. He probably needed a week or so more to get his muscles fully accustomed to intense training.

He entered his bedroom and saw Laurent already seated before a round table that had been moved to just a few steps into the balcony. The table had been set with two identical plates that held toast, sausages, egg and cheese. At the center was a porcelain pot of what smelled like coffee and a bowl of assortment of sliced fruits. Laurent himself had his legs crossed, a cup of coffee in front of him, and had been reading the day's gazette until he heard Damen enter.

Laurent's eyes rested for an appreciable amount of time on Damen's sweat-soaked shirt. “You need a bath.”

“I do intend to take one. After breakfast.”

Laurent blinked. Perhaps his refined tastes did not find the thought appealing. But, unexpectedly, he said, “Then the food does not need reheating. Do wash your hands.”

Damen smiled despite himself and headed to the bathroom adjoining his bedchambers. He washed his hands, his face and even replaced his shirt. He joined Laurent at the table and poured coffee into a cup.

Laurent set his gazette aside and lounged back, watching Damen. “I hear you've been throwing my men into the dust.”

This, Damen took as a reminder to tone down his overeagerness in training. But he had not been able to help himself from being exhilarated (thus fighting well) at finally facing challenging opponents after three years of training alone and in secret. Admittedly, he had defeated Jord who was meant to be his instructor too quickly for a beginner.

“That would be useful against potential attempts at assassination.”

“Attempts,” Damen said wryly.

“You have been aware of that soon after you signed our agreement.”

Damen raised a brow. He learned about it the hard way, he thought. “But not before.”

“Yet you honored your part of the contract when you could have quit without losing the benefits of our agreement.”

“Where would that have left you?”

“Poor,” Laurent sounded uncaring as he brought a bite of sausage to his mouth. He wiped his lips with a napkin. “Or married to someone else. I can't really tell. As I was saying, training would be much to your advantage to know how to defend yourself.”

“How about you?”

“I know how to defend myself.”

“I never see you train.”

“I have my personal training circuit.”

Damen knew better than to taunt Laurent. But he had heard from both Jord and Orlant that Laurent was as well-trained and an excellent swordsman as Damen had surmised. Damen itched to know how well Laurent would measure against him. “You would be my training partner if you joined us.”

Laurent arched a well-defined brow. “Another time perhaps.”

Nodding, Damen picked up a piece of toast. “Anything of the archer?”

Laurent chewed slowly and swallowed before answering, “All irrelevant information. We know that he was hired through a middleman. I'm having Huet find out who this person is. But I doubt I would be able to link it to my uncle. My uncle is very thorough.”

“A moment's anger may unravel his plans. When he gets too angry or too pressured, he will miscalculate,” Damen said. 

If Laurent found it odd that a tradesman were giving him good political advice, none of his expression showed it. “I am waiting for that. He is too in control of his emotions he might successfully do away with us first.”

“The closer you are to inheriting, the closer he gets to pressure and anger. We will have to survive then, and then you would be more difficult to kill once you have all the guards of Arles and all the resources behind you.”

There was a slight twitch at the corners of Laurent's mouth. But it did not seem to be out of displeasure. “Before then, I would like to increase the pressure on him.”

“To bait him?” Damen's voice rose a notch. Certainly, he wanted the Earl of Chastillon to make mistakes but he had not meant to induce that by putting himself in the line of fire.

“As you said, the more pressure there is, the more frustrated he gets. Then he makes small mistakes. I need that to happen soon.” Laurent pressed his lips and watched Damen for a long time before continuing, “I will have to make use of you.”

Damen clenched his jaws. This was exactly the role that he expected Laurent would give him: a live bait. He did not like it, but he was, at least, not a useless pawn. He could think and fight for himself. “What kind of use?”

“I know you think I'd have you sacrificed. But the longer I keep you alive, the more assured I am of my hold on the title. I will,” Laurent's words were deliberate and intent, “keep you safe. I just need Uncle to feel that I am doing something. I want you to talk to some of the members of the Gentleman's Club. I am already aware of their allegiances. I have a list of those who will not be swayed from my Uncle's side. I also know those who remain neutral. I want you to try to rally them to my cause, make them aware of the danger I face with my Uncle around.”

“Any honorable man would immediately see who should rightfully inherit the title.”

Laurent regarded Damen thoughtfully. “Not all men are honorable. And I am not well liked.”

That, Damen understood, was the real problem. Laurent, young, cold and intellegent, would be hard to understand even for the nobility who always had ulterior motives in dealing with each other. Laurent set himself apart from others almost arrogantly, probably making the others feel as if Laurent thought them beneath him. And when Laurent did exert the effort to mingle, he probably drove people away with his dry humor and biting remarks. Laurent could use his sharp brain and tongue to make people like him, and Damen thought Laurent probably did sometimes, but that meant sustaining friendships that Laurent did not want, entertaining people that Laurent did not like. That would be exhausting to someone who would rather be alone, reading in his rooms.

Damen raised his eyes from his food to find that Laurent had been watching him. “What use do you have for me?” Damen asked.

“You deal with people better. I have seen people flock to you like moth to flame. Talk to the people I want you to talk to. I do not even need you to lie. I just want you to plant seeds – the truth – about how my uncle intends to find himself with my title. And I don't want you to be discreet about it.”

“You assume that men of high birth would speak freely to a mere cloth merchant.”

Laurent's reaction – his tense posture, his heavy gaze, his pressed lips – spoke of something relevant that Damen could not name. It was a strange response to a small, simple statement and Damen felt like it meant something to Laurent if not to Damen himself. After a strange silence, Laurent said, “To you they would.”

* * *  
Damen felt like a young man on his way to his first ball being attended by an elder brother. It was ironic seeing as he was twenty-five and considerably more experienced than Laurent who, at twenty, was yet to enjoy (if Laurent allowed himself) the pleasures available to any young man. Laurent fixed Damen's cravat and jacket and eyed Damen's entire body thoroughly before stating that Damen was ready to go.

“But before you leave, here is my list. As promised.”

Damen opened the sheet of paper that had Laurent's neat, scholarly handwriting. It was a list of gentlemen who were members of the Club in this part of the kingdom that were pertinent to Laurent's plans. They were categorized based on whether or not they sided with the Earl of Chastillon. Laurent spoke some of the traits of those gentlemen to Damen and gave tips on how Damen could possibly approach them – not that, Laurent said, Damen needed help with that but it would be good to offer the tips just the same.

“How do you know all these things?” 

“I am observant,” Laurent said, arms crossed over his chest, his back against the wall near the door of Damen's bedroom.

Damen narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He did not think that being observant led Laurent to know that the Earl of Nesson took a young, rich male lover to bed.

“I do have eyes and ears in a lot of places.”

“Spies.”

“Yes, spies. I have a wide network of good ones.” Laurent was smiling with pride. “I could offer you some but I don't know how a cloth trader would use one, unless to know where others get even finer cloth.”

But, Damen thought wryly, an unseated Duke in hiding might find use for spies. In as much as he disliked the idea of spies (how did a person trust a spy who earned other people's trust to make himself successful in the craft?), he acknowledged the need for them. And he could use one if he wanted to know what Kastor was planning. In hindsight, he would have been better prepared if he had some spies in Ios – except that he would not have distrusted his own brother enough to set a spy on him. “I could use them. Eventually,” Damen said.

“Just tell me,” Laurent said lightly. “Like I said, my men are yours.” He pushed himself away from the wall and said, “You best be off.”

The Gentleman's Club in Arles was a mansion a little less than an hour's ride away from the Veretian manor. The Club convened on Tuesdays and Fridays, but, as Laurent said, more people came on Fridays. As Damen had come on a Friday, the Club was well-filled: there were three tables of men playing cards with more than coins on the offering and some had women on their laps. Some men idly sat on the parlor listening to a woman playing music as they sipped their wine. Damen did not feel like being generous with his coins so he opted to join this group. He spotted the young Baron of Belloy, one of the attendees to his and Laurent's wedding and, peculiarly, supported Laurent and dropped himself to the chair next to the Baron.

“Ahh, our new Marquis!” Belloy proclaimed for everyone in the room to hear, raising his goblet of wine at the sight of Damen. “Welcome, welcome,” he said, clapping a hand on Damen's shoulder. “We have been introduced, if you remember?”

“I do,” Damen said, shaking the Baron's offered hand and then the others' who had come to shake his hand and introduce themselves to Damen.

There was a buzz of excitement over the new recruit. Damen silently put away Laurent's list from his mind because, as Laurent had suggested, he was to be true to this men, or at least was supposed to earn their trust.

“How does marriage suit you?” it was Belloy who had found himself back to Damen's side, and was planting a goblet of wine into Damen's hand.

“Well,” Damen said as he drank his wine. “There is not much change.”

“Perhaps your question should be how does the marriage _bed_ suit you?” was a call from one other Baron from Varenne. His remark was followed by a laughter that Damen was forced to share. “You have quite the catch. At least in appearance. Is his body as tenacious as his mouth in bed?”

“I would not know,” Damen said honestly.

It was followed by a reaction that was a mixture of dismay, outrage and non-surprise.

“As expected of Arles,” Belloy said, shaking his head. He waved a servant to refill Damen's wine. “Imagine our disbelief when we got the invitation. We thought he'd never marry or that no one would lust after him enough to marry. So this,” he waved his goblet, spilling some of its contents, “what you have is a mutually benificial arrangement?”

“Yes. It is not a secret.” Taking the chance, Damen took the opportunity to explain parts of his contract with Laurent, expressing how Laurent was generous with it. After hearing that Damen's marriage would probably not be consummated at all, the gentlemen had told him to contact a certain Lady Dinah who would find a woman to match him. They could, in fact, send a note to her right away.

Damen took to heart Laurent's suggestion to enjoy himself. He drank and exchanged some anecdotes from his travels with Charls, and some of the gentlemen told him that there seemed to be unrest in the South, instigated by Nikandros and Makedon who had long been questioning the legitimacy of Kastor's seat in Ios. They debated a little, with Damen tight-lipped and listening, whose claim was more legitimate: Kastor a son of the Duke, born out of wedlock, or a cousin from Theomedes' sister.

Later, as they talked, Damen found his lap full of a woman – Ianora – with light brown hair, fair skin and full breasts.

He did not go home until well past midnight and slept much later with Ianora entangled in the sheets with him.

Damen woke up with a slight headache but feeling sated. He rolled in bed and grinned at the sight of the sleeping woman beside him. Ianora was skilled in bed, very good with her hands and her mouth, and had kept up with Damen who had plenty of pent-up energy since Ylona had left a month prior to a regular trip to Marches. Ianora, however, was a bit too spirited in bed that Damen could not yet decide if he wanted to keep her or if he should wait for Ylona who perfectly knew what he liked in bed.

Hearing a door click, Damen sat up and faced the direction of the door so fast he felt dizzy. Laurent strode in and took in the sight of Ianora without comment.

“What are you doing?” Damen asked, picking up his pants that had been discarded on the floor and pulling it up his bare legs. 

Laurent watched him with disinterest.

“You have yet to tell me what happened last night.” Laurent directed his gaze to Ianora who had started to stir. “Except her. You don't have to tell me about _that_.”

“I was not under the impression that I would have to report to you right away,” Damen said gruffly, showing his annoyance at having his privacy invaded. Being found sleeping in the nude was one thing, but being found in the morning with a bed partner was entirely another.

The bed creaked. Damen turned to see Ianora staring wide-eyed at Laurent, and clutching the sheets to her chest.

“Get dressed, woman. I am to share breakfast with my husband. I am not sharing breakfast with you too,” Laurent said curtly before stalking off the way he had come in.

Damen did not follow Laurent immediately. He pulled a light shirt over his torso. He gave a generous tip to Ianora, rang for a female attendant to see to her needs and send her to where she wanted to go before finally joining Laurent in the receiving room of his chambers. Laurent already had breakfast prepared, and he sat relaxed on a divan, his arms along the edge of the backrest.

“I do not appreciate you coming into my rooms all the time,” Damen said frankly.

“This is my manor. I do what I want,” Laurent said coldly.

“This is my manor now too, _husband_ ,” Damen quipped.

“Are you embarrassed for her?” Laurent asked icily. “She works in a brothel. She is seen naked by men all the time.”

“And how about you? Are you used to seeing naked women all the time too?”

“I do not have delicate sensibilities,” Laurent said haughtily. He did not really answer Damen's question. “I do not mind seeing any of your women in bed.”

Damen felt his headache worsen. Dealing with Laurent was, at the moment, literally a pain. He pinched the bridge of his nose and passed a hand over his face. He looked at Laurent. “What did you want?”

“Did you find out anything last night?” Laurent asked.

“No. I thought you said I should go on my own pace. I am still assessing them.”

“All right.”

“All right?” Damen asked, bemused. “You expected my answer? Couldn't you have waited for it till later?”

“I also did intend to have breakfast with you, _husband_ ,” Laurent said, mimicking the tone that Damen had used.

**to be continued~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laurent reading is absolutely one of my favorite, favorite (I cannot stress it enough) images in the books. One of my HCs is Damen presenting Laurent with the library of Ios, which Laurent will peruse with open delight in his blue eyes. Damen would find it heartbreakingly beautiful because it is like gifting Laurent back his young, bookish self, which had been lost because of Auguste's death, the Regent's abuse and Laurent's want for revenge. And Damen would probably wish he could sleep to Laurent's voice reading to him, or wake up to the sight of Laurent losing sleep over another book. 
> 
> Okay so anyway, since Auguste is still dead and the Regent is still evil but without the abuse, I'm playing with the idea of an in-between Laurent. He loves books, he loves solitude, and I want to show his more tender side more and I'm reducing the ruthlessness.


	4. Revelry Among Nobles

Dining for breakfast together had become a routine – mostly because Laurent showed up in Damen's chambers, sometimes in riding leathers and sometimes in his regular daily attire, always with an attendant with breakfast in tow. Laurent had not had the chance to eject a woman out of Damen's bed again primarily because Damen had opted to wait for Ylona who, probably, Laurent would not be able to turn out of Damen's rooms.

They mostly talked about Damen's progress in the task Laurent had put him to. After a few visits, Damen had come up with a mental list of those he would likely be able to turn to Laurent's cause. Guion's son was definitely not one of those, for Guion, Duke of Fortaine, was in league with the Earl of Chastillon. Laurent had expected that. There were a few others who sympathized with Damen and Laurent who, however, did not care for political altercations. There were still those who would help but were helpless, being born as third or fourth sons in their families. In the end, Damen only had Belloy, a Viscount from Toutaine and an Earl from Marches to rely on.

Laurent did not share Damen's dissatisfaction over this, however. He said that Damen had done a far better job Laurent would have. It was, in Laurent's words, “good work.”

“If you were less antagonistic towards most people, you would fair just as well,” Damen suggested.

There was a curious tilt to Laurent's head and a glassy quality in his eyes when he asked emotionlessly, “You find me antagonistic?”

Damen imagined Laurent would have used his mind to gain support. It would have been an endless back and forth – a haggle – of blackmail and mutual benefits. But, Damen knew, once those blackmail material and the benefits have run out, support would break which is why he himself preferred to gain support by earning friendship and loyalty thru more honest means. He himself knew people who would support his cause out of loyalty – Nikandros of Delpha, most of all.

Damen knew he had taken a long moment to answer. He watched Laurent who had stopped eating in favor of watching him. “Not personally. But this is what people I've talked to say about. Stop treating people as if they are all out to get you. Some people do not mean well, some people mean well, some do not have any intentions with you at all. Stop measuring them for how much harm or benefit they will give you.”

Laurent straightened his back. The tension in his body was pronounced. “Are those your words or others'?”

“The last thing was mine.”

Laurent's eyes were carefully blank as Laurent pushed himself out of the armchair. Damen realized with regret that Laurent had drawn a new wall around himself, and Damen had been the cause. “My character is not for anyone to evaluate.” Laurent left, his breakfast barely touched.

Laurent did not appear the next morning, nor the one after. Damen gave Laurent time. While Damen wished he had been more cautious in the manner by which he spoke, he had meant what he said. Belloy had told Damen that he would have liked Laurent more if he did not think Laurent only approached him because Laurent had a use for him. To any conversation, Laurent had layers of intention: to pry out information, to further the progress of his schemes, to give out a favor that would be returned in the future. Even Damen, Belloy said (but Damen already knew), was obviously being used as part of Laurent's plans. If Laurent wanted to be more agreeable, if he wanted support, then he should face people with more honest warmth.

On the third morning that Laurent did not appear, Damen thought with some irritation that Laurent was acting childish. By the fourth day, Damen called Orlant and inquired after Laurent.

“Where does he take breakfast?” Damen asked as he sipped his coffee before a breakfast table that had been set for him alone.

“His Grace does not, my lord. He heads straight to training with Jord after his ride.”

That, Damen thought, explained why he was one less of a competent training partner in the past few mornings.

“He threw Jord down several times. Jord says His Grace is in a vicious mood.”

The next morning, Damen did away with his regular training with the guards. He asked Orlant to accompany him to Laurent's personal training arena and parried with Orlant as they waited for Laurent.

Laurent took longer than usual in his ride, and he when he arrived he was already in a clean white cotton shirt and a pair of trousers. His hair was tied tightly back. Despite his simple garb, he managed to look expensive and untouchable. His eyes narrowed when they spotted Damen.

“You said you'd show me how you fight,” Damen said, swinging his sword in a smooth circle. It was a challenge.

Wordlessly, Laurent stepped into the circular arena of sand, and unsheathed the sword he had brought in. He nodded to Orlant and Jord. “Step outside and guard the doors.”

Jord and Orlant visibly hesitated. “Go. He will not kill me,” Laurent said calmly. 

Damen potentially could, depending on how good Laurent was. But the thought had not crossed Damen's mind. He watched as Jord and Orlant left the room and closed the door and then swung his sword again to regain Laurent's attention.

Laurent made his first swing, graceful and swift. They started with a slow exchange of blows, carefully testing each other's skill. Damen was not surprised that Laurent was able to match Damen's swings point for point. This was, he reminded himself, Auguste's brother.

Despite the similarities in fundamental technique, however – the stance, the way they held the sword, the swings they favored, how they blocked blows – Laurent was not Auguste. Auguste, who was built for swordplay and every other activity that required physicality, used his muscle and power with every blow. Laurent, who was more lithe, was more agile, and relied on tactics on top of a surprising amount of athleticism. He swung his sword the way he wielded words: with calm assessment and clear-eyed vision of what was to come. Every thing was well-calculated. He knew where to swing to get Damen slightly off balance, he knew where to lean so that he would remain on his feet. He countered Damen's stronger blows in a way that would least jar his bones.

But while Laurent was an excellent swordsman – the most excellent Damen had seen since coming to Arles – Damen had been exposed to Auguste's technique, had more experience with fighting to the death, was by nature more powerfully built, and, perhaps to Laurent's surprise, quick for his size. He had Laurent in the sand after nearly half an hour, his swordpoint a few inches from Laurent's neck after he had thrown Laurent's sword flying a few yards to Laurent's right.

Laurent, heaving, threw up his arms. “I yield.”

Damen resheathed his sword. “Wash up. I had breakfast set up at the East gardens.”

The servants had set up the breakfast in a gazebo that had been built in the middle of a man-made pond. Ducks and lilies padded across greenish water. Laurent was leaning over the railing of the concrete arched bridge that led to the gazebo when Damen arrived. He seemed to be throwing crumbs into the water, and, from where Damen stood to watch, he saw that several brightly colored fish had gathered to feed on the morsels of bread.

Laurent looked fresh despite the austerity of his clothes. His gilt hair gleamed bright under the sun and was a stunning vision against the brown, orange and yellow of trees that had started shedding leaves for autumn. Laurent rubbed his hands together to rid it of the last of the crumbs and turned to Damen. Damen was not sure, but he thought Laurent wore a smile.

“Shall we? I'm famished,” Laurent said lightly, which was not something Damen had expected given what happened the last time they had breakfast together.

They settled into a comfortable silence as they ate, both of them hungry after their morning activities. It was Laurent who broke the silence.

“I find it hard,” Laurent started, resting his fork on his plate, “to deal with people. I find it hard to give my trust to anyone when the person whom I trusted betrayed me and my family.

Damen looked up and tried not to interrupt whatever Laurent had to say. This was, he knew, a privilege of sorts to be on the hearing end of what Laurent undoubtedly considered a personal confession.

“I'd rather know,” Laurent continued, “what I'm dealing with than trust people and then get blindsided eventually.”

That, Damen thought, was the reason Laurent had very few people surrounding him.

“Still,” Damen said, “you will find that there are people whom you can trust. They might not be many but they will be there till the end. You only need a handful of those.”

Laurent looked at Damen oddly. “You speak as if everyone around you is worthy of trust.”

Damen felt a stab of pain at what Laurent had unwittingly implied. Damen too had been betrayed by brother and beloved. Yet, he knew he had friends who would rise alongside him should he decide to end his charade as a cloth merchant and to win back his title. “I know what betrayal is. I also know trust. I have friends whose loyalty will not tarnish.”

“How do you know?”

“Ours is mutual trust. We will never think to betray each other as long as we live.”

“That seems a precarious arrnagement to put yourself into. You never know they will betray you until they do,” Laurent remarked. “I am not sure if I should admire your faith in people or pity you for your inability to discern deception.”

“Having no one to trust,” Damen said in heavy words, “makes for a lonely man.” He knew judging by the twitch at the corners of Laurent's mouth that Damen had implied another painful truth about Laurent. That Laurent was distrustful and thus had no one. Damen knew he should have been more careful in choosing his words, but how else would he drive his point to the stubborn and arrogant Laurent? He half expected Laurent to get up and leave the way Laurent had done only a few days prior.

But, surprisingly, Laurent stayed. “My cold skepticism has kept me alive,” Laurent stated. “Auguste was a lot like you. He thought everyone trustworthy until proven otherwise. He did not think anyone would try to assassinate him. He did not think Uncle could be anything but an intelligent advisor to Father. Father trusted his brother's counsel, trusted the physicians around him without knowing they were slowly draining the life out of him. I looked to my Uncle too. He taught me history, politics and languages. He would ride out with me whenever Auguste was busy, when Father ignored me or when Mother was too sick to read with me. And yet here we are on the opposite sides of a wall, with him threatening my life and my inheritance. How do you expect me to trust anyone?”

Damen pressed his lips grimly as he watched Laurent. Laurent spoke in a cool, even voice. But his eyes had darkened. It was the only hint of emotion in his perfectly honed facade of calm.

He remembered the boy that Auguste loved to talk about, the boy who loved legends and made fun of Auguste. Damen did not remember meeting the child Laurent, but he had known Laurent through Auguste. Auguste would have been saddened by the change in Laurent.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Damen looked up and matched Laurent's levelled gaze. “I am not saying that you should trust them fully and at once. I only ask that you try and see if there is anything to trust, and try to earn their trust as well. You should make them feel that you are their ally as much as they are yours. Make them feel like you are not only using them, but that you need their willing help, and that you would help them willingly in return.” Damen reached for his cup of coffee and took a long sip. “If they turn their backs on you, I will personally see that they will regret what they have done.”

Laurent's mouth opened in surprise. “You would do that?”

“Yes. It is only right.”

Laurent took a long while in contemplation, his eyes not wavering from Damen, whom he seemed to consider as another of those people he was not sure whether to trust or not. Damen briefly wondered again just what exactly was Laurent's reason for choosing Damen who, it seemed, Laurent did not trust because Laurent simply did not trust anyone.

“Fine,” Laurent breathed out. “I will try your way.”

“Go to the Club this Friday.”

To his disappointment, Laurent shook his head. “Vannes has invited me to her banquet this Friday. I already gave her my word.”

“Next week then.”

Laurent nodded. “Next week.”

Having matters settled peacefully, Damen went back to eating. They made polite and trivial conversation. They discussed training, Damen's business, Charls' health for the rest of the meal.

“The invitation extends to you,” Laurent said as they both rose from their seats, their breakfast over.

“What invitation?” Damen asked, putting his hands together behind him.

“Vannes'. As my husband, all invitations I receive are yours as well.”

“Vannes is already your ally. You do not need me to convince her,” Damen pointed out. He frowned. Laurent seemed to still be waiting for his answer. “You wish me to earn more of the guests' favor for you?”

Laurent took a long moment before replying, “I just want you to go.”

Damen who thought that Laurent had something up his sleeve again, narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I told you that you would be required to assume the role of a husband to me on certain occasions. A gathering such as this is among those.” Laurent released a loud, almost impatient breath. “But if you'd rather not, then I shall go alone.”

Still disbelieving that Laurent had no hidden agenda, Damen said, “If you think it's important, then I shall go.”

* * *

They shared a carriage to Vannes' estate despite Damen's voiced objections. Damen disliked traveling in enclosed spaces simply because of his size. He usually did not have enough leg room and his head often hit the roof of the carriage that he normally had to settle to an uncomfortable position throughout the ride. It was the same for this ride. Damen had to sit slanting across the cushioned seat opposite Laurent to not have to fold his legs so close to his torso and so as not to hit the roof whenever the carriage bounced.

Laurent watched, his head propped on his head with his elbow resting on an armest of the cushioned seat, as Damen tried to arrange himself in the least uncomfortable pose.

“Perhaps,” Laurent said, staring from Damen's head to Damen's feet, “I should order a carriage that suits your size.” There was a bright twinkle in his eyes, and laughter was in his voice.

Damen failed to find amusement where his discomfort was concerned. But he marveled at the fact that Laurent, cool and aloof, found amusement over such a mundane thing – that, in fact, Laurent actually found amusement in anything.

“It is a bit of a ride,” Laurent told Damen. “If you like, you may rest your leg on my seat.”

It must be a joke, Damen thought, so even if the idea were tempting, he refused it.

“Go on,” Laurent said. “You will get a cramp sitting that way.”

“You're serious.”

“Of course. Which is more undignified, folding yourself like that or extending a leg to your husband's seat?” He waved a hand. “Go on.”

Frowning, Damen sat more straight up and rested shoes on the empty space beside Laurent. It was infinitely more comfortable. “How long till we reach the estate?”

“An hour and a half,” Laurent said.

Damen nodded, crossed his arms over his chest, and settled to take a nap. He woke up later with Laurent watching him. 

Laurent did not seem to mind being caught; he did not turn his gaze away. Instead, he said, “Vannes offered to marry me if I had not convinced anyone to marry me.”

“It would have been more favorable to you,” Damen said, uncertain why Laurent thought he should share the fact. He was slowly coming to understand this of Laurent: that Laurent often dropped unsolicited truths for reasons only Laurent knew. “You could have heirs through her.”

Laurent tilted his head. “Vannes doesn't like sleeping with men.”

Damen blinked. “She has a son.”

“Born out of necessity. She only slept long enough with her husband to acquire an heir.”

“You also need heirs,” Damen pointed out. “You have Arles and Acquitart. You need someone to inherit them.”

“I have told you that you can provide the children,” Laurent said curtly.

“You detest the idea of sleeping with women that much? That you would ask your husband to sire children outside of marriage for you?”

“Legalities allow it. And you would enjoy it more, whereas I – well, I don't think I'd like it.”

“You can't really know unless you've slept with anyone.”

“When I turned thirteen, Auguste had told me the same thing. I said I preferred my books. I don't see why I should have to lie in the arms of another. The thought was not... very enticing. I told him that thankfully I was not under any obligation to provide grandchildren to Father seeing as I'm the second son.”

“You still don't welcome the idea,” Damen stated.

Laurent looked at Damen oddly, as if Damen were a piece of a particularly difficult puzzle. “Hm,” was Laurent's only response.

A doorman ushered Damen and Laurent into the Great Hall. Damen almost startled when he felt Laurent slip an arm around Damen's as they stepped down to join the gathered nobility who had all been invited to a celebration of Vannes' Name Day. Tables where guests could avail of supper had been pushed to the sides of the room while the center of the hall served as ballroom. Laurent led Damen to the table at the dais of the Great Hall where they found Vannes.

Vannes, if Damen remembered correctly, was an ally loyal to Auguste and an ally that Laurent had consequently inherited. She had a pinched look about her, but her severe countenance was not entirely unappealing. A hulking figure of a woman, who had the Vaskian scraggly black hair and wide jaws, sat beside her. This woman had come with Vannes to Damen and Laurent's wedding. Damen, after Laurent's revelation, realized that this woman must be Vannes' lover.

“I'm glad you could come,” Vannes said, standing up to greet Laurent and Damen a brief curtsy. “It is a pleasure to have you in my estate, my lord,” she told Damen. “You have met Talik?” she said, indicating the woman beside her. “Please, sit and dine with us. You may avail of the ballroom later.”

Finally letting go of Damen's arm, Laurent dropped on the high-backed chair beside Vannes and nodded for Damen to sit beside him.

“It has been a while since you have granted my invitation, Your Grace,” Damen heard Vannes say as a servant provided Damen and Laurent the first course. “I nearly thought you had changed your mind about my invitation.”

“It is an important occasion for you, Vannes. And I said I would come. I hope you don't mind that I invited my husband along?”

“Certainly not.” Damen felt Vannes' eyes on him. “I am glad you have extended the invitation to him. We were all looking forward to meeting him, although of course I have known him as the provider of fine cloth.”

Damen sat through dinner engaged in lazy, idle conversation. Vannes, who shared Laurent's quip tongue, asked trivial questions, which Damen considered were safe enough. He did not think answering Vannes' questions were walking into a trap. But it tired him a little. She did not have Damen's brand of humor. He excused himself to seek people he thought he would be more comfortable with.

Later, he found Belloy and a few others who were members of the Club. He danced with a few women, unmarried ladies who no doubt sought marriage. He drank a huge amount of wine, which though good, was not as good as the wine that Laurent served. As the night deepened, he retired to join his friends from the Club over wine and snacks.

He noticed that Laurent, ever abstinent, neither danced nor drank. Damen wondered why Laurent had even bothered to come. When that thought came, Damen shrugged to himself and just decided to enjoy the night.

It was well past midnight when he received a note from a footman. It was from Laurent who had told Damen to find him in the library whenever he was ready to leave.

“Everyone else is carousing and here you are, holed up in the library,” Damen commented when he found Laurent seated comfortably on a couch. Laurent was, unsurprisingly, reading.

“I do not like carousing,” Laurent said, gently closing his book.

“I know that,” Damen said. “Which is why I'd like to ask why you came at all.”

“I thought this was something you would enjoy. I also thought you could gain more clients.” Laurent stood up, and fixed his jacket uncreased and unblemished though it was.

Laurent was right. Damen was used to gatherings such as this. He enjoyed dancing. He enjoyed flirting with the ladies. He enjoyed wine, laughter and music.

“I realize being detained in my manor must bore you. I only throw parties a few times a year. I do not drink. Staying with me is not something that you consider entertaining.”

Damen should have denied out of politeness or should have told Laurent that he found sufficient entertainment for himself. But Laurent would not appreciate false assurances. But even then, Damen did not find mornings with Laurent boring. They were not quite entertaining, but those mornings were almost instructive – he learned about Laurent, about Laurent's allies, about news of the kingdom. It was not entirely boring. He felt compelled to say so. “You are not entirely... uninteresting.”

Laurent looked up, and blinked. His eyes were bright with something but before Damen could identify what it was, Laurent had dispelled it to replace it with his usual emotionless calm. “Me and my books and my horses... are hardly your brand of entertainment.”

“I do like riding every now and then.”

“Over carriages, I assume?” Laurent asked.

Damen realized that Laurent was teasing. “Definitely. But I would not mind another tour of the woods around the manor. My horse does need the exercise.”

“I -” Laurent took a deep breath. Damen found it peculiar that he had disarmed Laurent simply by suggesting an activity as commonplace as a ride between a married couple. “That can be arranged.”

**to be continued~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Imagine Laurent watching as Damen danced with women, or how women hounded Damen who was tall and attractive. He would have felt slightly jealous but also would have been amused. And he would have found it entertaining that Damen stood a head taller than everyone in the room.


	5. Things at Stake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been months~ I've been terribly busy these past few months. But I haven't discontinued this (obviously). This chapter has been sitting in my laptop for a long time but I just completed it. Anyway, here we go.

Whatever Laurent and Damen had thought to plan for the week had to be put off. Charls' health had come down to a worrying state: he spent more hours of the day asleep than awake, and when he was awake, he coughed more than he spoke. Even Paschal who used to think the best of Charls' health could not give Damen any assurance; he did not want to speculate how much longer Charls would live, and, worse, he had told Charls and Damen to get their business in order.

“Do you mean that we should expect the worst any time soon?” Damen asked. He was seated on one of the chairs at the parlor leading to Charls' bedroom while Laurent spoke with Charls in private.

“I cannot tell. But best have every thing settled while he is still lucid. If necessary, I will be prescribing him potent draught for his pain, and that will interfere with his thought process.”

Damen passed a hand over his face. “Do everything you can, Paschal.”

“I am doing exactly that, my lord. Charls, too, is fighting. But you have to be prepared for all possibilities.”

Before Damen could respond, the door to Charls' room opened. He looked up and saw Laurent stepping out. “How is he?” Damen asked.

“He looked exhausted so I let him sleep,” Laurent said.

“I will have a nurse sent up to him. In the meantime, I will be preparing his medicines.” After a curt bow to Damen and Laurent, Paschal left the room.

Damen felt himself under Laurent's gaze, now that they were the only ones in the room. “When was the last time you slept?” Laurent demanded, eyeing Damen's probably dishevelled state.

Damen could not remember. He took a nap every now and then while keeping vigil at Charls' bedside. But he did not think it amounted to what anyone would call proper rest.

“You heard Paschal. He is going to send a nurse. You do not have to spend the rest of the night here,” Laurent said tonelessly. He had strolled to the armchair opposite Damen and stood behind it, his hands resting on the edge of its back as he watched Damen coldly.

Laurent looked immaculate as always, but Damen knew that, for his own reasons, Laurent had also taken a few turns by Charls' bedside. Damen took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose to keep his tired eyes open. “I am fine. I shall not be able to sleep thinking about everything that can happen anyway.”

“And you believe we will let you doze on if anything untoward happened?” Laurent countered. He jerked his head towards the door. “Go. Sleep. I do not want another sick person in this household. If you insist to stay awake, the next cup of tea you ask for will have an appreciable amount of Paschal's sleeping draught.”

Damen would have glowered at Laurent had he not realized that, in his own odd way, Laurent was only being considerate of Damen. “I will wait for the nurse before I go.”

Laurent narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and he seemed to be at the verge of saying something. But he seemed to have decided against voicing his objection and nodded. “Good night,” he said before leaving the parlor.

The nurse Paschal had sent was the one who usually took care of Charls. After leaving instructions to the nurse, Damen retired to his rooms, divested himself of clothing and collapsed into bed. Dawn was just about to break when he woke up. He did not feel completely rested, but immensely better in comparison to last night. He got up immediately, wanting to see Charls as soon as he was able despite knowing that the nurse Paschal had sent was perfectly capable of looking after Charls.

He washed up, pulled on pants and a shirt, and walked to Charls' chambers. To his surprise, Laurent was already in the parlor, seated on one of the armchairs. He had a pot and two mugs of coffee waiting on the table within arm's reach. He had been reading until he realized someone had come in.

“You're early,” he drawled, setting his book on top of the table before bringing the cup of coffee to his lips.

“So are you,” Damen pointed out as he settled on the chair across Laurent.

“I, unlike you, did have more than enough sleep in the past few days. I can afford less hours of sleep tonight.” He extended his arm to fill the empty cup with coffee, and he slid it towards Damen who watched Laurent with a frown.

“Why do you show this much concern toward Charls?”

Laurent arranged himself lazily in his chair and looked at Damen like one might watch an interesting, strange bauble. “He has been supplying cloth to our family for years.”

“And yet do you show this much concern to others in your household? Cook who has been with your family before you were born? Jord who has been with your brother before you took him in your service? Do you visit them in their sickbeds as well?”

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “There is nothing suspicious here, Damen. I merely owe Charls a favor.”

Damen arched a brow in disbelief.

“Which is it that you find surprising? That I could stoop so low as to ask anyone a favor or that I actually try to pay the favors I owe?” Damen merely furrowed his brows. “I work well alone, but I am not too proud to acknowledge when I need help.”

“Like in my case.”

“Almost. In fact, perhaps I owe Charls an even bigger favor.” He took another sip of coffee. “The point is, I do pay my debts. I do not like owing anyone.”

Damen took slow deliberate sips of coffee during the silence that followed. “What was it that was so important you actually asked someone else’s help? Does it have something to do with your brother or father?”

Laurent leaned back and propped his head on one hand. “Not so. But the matter is nearly as important.”

This piqued Damen’s interest. What could be considered more pressing than the matter with the Earl of Chastillon and almost as significant as Laurent’s family? But he decided not to inquire further. Laurent’s manner suggested that he would not provide any thing more than quip, ambiguous answers.

“Speaking of favors, tell me how is it again that you came to Charls’ service?” Laurent said. “It disappoints me to realize that I know next to nothing about my husband.”

Damen wrinkled his brows. “Do you want me to believe that you did not do your research on me before you decided to ask for my hand?”

“Do you suppose you are so important I would set my spies on you?” Laurent replied with a nearly amused quirk to his mouth. “I honor Charls’ privacy. If you do not believe I value yours, at least believe that. What I know about you, I know based on what I observe, what you tell me and what Charls tells me.”

Damen hesitated. Laurent was sharp. He followed news about other noble families and knew more than he ought about most. If Damen revealed too much, Laurent could put things together and find out about Damen, a scenario that Damen was not prepared to deal with. He was comfortable in his anonymity - for now.

And yet as Damen thought more about it, he did not think Laurent would react unkindly to a friend of Auguste. In fact, perhaps Laurent would offer help to Damen in honor of Auguste. Still, Damen did not like the idea of freely offering the information until he was ready to fight Kastor.

Then he would share half-truths with Laurent. “What do you want to know?”

Laurent shrugged one shoulder. “Whatever you’re willing to tell me.”

“I just found myself driven away from home by hired men. I fell off my horse and felt myself close to death. I was with Charls when I woke up a week after. found out much later that the men were sent by my brother.”

“How did Charls find you?”

“He told me that he spotted me near the river. I don’t remember getting there. I recall voices approach me when I fell off my horse but I was too close to death to recognize or remember.”

“And this brother of yours has always been hostile towards you?”

Damen looked at his coffee that was now getting cold. “No. Not in an obvious way. But he was born out of wedlock and I was the heir. I should have realized his brotherly affection was false.”

“Do you seek revenge?”

“I just want to get back what is mine.”

Laurent leaned back and folded his fingers together. “How do you intend to go about it?”

“I will need to contact my friends first. And I need resources.”

“Is that why you agreed to marry me?”

Frankly, Damen answered, “Yes.”

Laurent nodded stiffly. “My resources are yours. Use them as you wish. After all, I know what it is like to be threatened by family.”

***  
A few days later, Paschal declared Charls to be out of immediate danger but with the warning that Charls would be prone to more bouts of coughing and infection. Paschal said that they still had to be vigilant; he did not think Charls would survive another infection.

It was a truth that was painful to swallow for Damen who owed Charls his life. And yet Damen felt that Charls had been ill and in pain for so long that the end would be almost a relief. Even Charls himself dealt with matters as if the end were near.

After Paschal cleared Charls from danger, Damen got back to work in the merchant house. There was a lot to deal with - not quite problematic matters, but things that only he or Charls could decide and had been on hold on the previous week. He went through them for days and he was immensely grateful when he finished them that he went back to the Veretian manor early for a well-deserved break.

Supper would not be served until after a couple of hours later when Damen arrived at the manor so he decided to change out of his clothes and set out to the library for a relaxing read. While he did not eat up books the way Laurent did, Damen enjoyed reading every now and then.

He supposed he should not have been surprised to find Laurent already in the library. Laurent had coveted a divan near the window and was reading with the book held propped on his chest. He had a leg folded up and the foot of the other rested on one knee.

Damen caught himself smiling at the sight when he entered. He tried to be quiet as he stepped into the library, which was tall and spacious with the walls lined with books accessible through two winding staircases that followed the shape of the round room. But, Laurent, seeming to have both the demeanor and senses of an expensive aristocratic cat, heard him.

Laurent turned, saw Damen and pushed himself up. “Damen,” he said, wearing something akin to puzzlement in his face.

“I had hoped to find something to read,” Damen briefly as he watched Laurent put on his boots. “No need for you to stop reading on my account. I can find a book on my own.”

Laurent straightened up and ignored Damen’s words. “What kind of book would you like to read?”

“A work of fiction,” Damen replied. At the arch of Laurent’s brow, Damen said, “What? You didn’t think I could read?”

“I know you can read… I just did not think you read fiction,” Laurent remarked as he led the way to the staircase to the left of the room.

“Why not?”

“You do not strike me as the sort.”

“I don’t look intelligent enough?”

“No. I know you have above average aptitude for most things, probably better in things that interest you.” Laurent led them up to a second flight of stairs. “But I thought you were the type who would rather do something else than be cooped up in your room, reading.”

“That is generally true. But I do enjoy books as well. Not nearly as much as you do, however. You must have read all the books here.”

“An exaggeration,” Laurent said. “I do intend to read them all in this lifetime, however.” He stopped in front of a mark that said ‘Fiction - Adventure’ and pointed at the books. “Here, take your pick.”

“You think I like adventure books?”

“Don’t you?” Laurent said steadily. Damen grinned. Amusingly, Laurent was correct in assuming so. “My brother loved these books. Take whichever you fancy.”

“Why do you not have a librarian for a library as big as this?”

“I did not like how the last librarian kept rearranging the books. All the books here are catalogued based on the system employed in Aquila. Mother started it. The last librarian made a mess of it. People do not normally come here anyway so a librarian is not necessary. I just tasked Rochert to make a monthly inventory to check if the books are still complete.”

Instead of putting his attention on the books, Damen fixed his eyes on Laurent. Laurent and Auguste’s mother was half-Aquilan, and was the source of Laurent’s and Auguste’s fair hair. Auguste had admitted to Damen before that he was closer to his father while Laurent was closer to their mother who had passed away of illness when Laurent was ten.

“Who designed the library? Was it your mother as well?”

“In a manner of speaking. She asked it to be rebuilt based on one that she saw in Aquila. Do you need any more help?”

Damen shook his head.

“You may join me downstairs when you’ve decided what to read. I’ll send for tea.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Damen browsed the volumes carefully and settled for one about a boy who has been looking for his captured father and went through all sorts of adventure to find his father. He brought it down with him and propped himself on an armchair near Laurent’s divan. A pot of tea was already on the table in front of his chair.

They read in silence till almost dusk, when the candles had to be lit for them to continue reading. Damen had caught Laurent watching him a few times probably checking Damen’s progress.

“It’s a bit too dark here now.” Laurent started. He had now snapped his book close.

Damen nodded. “It’s almost time for supper.” He closed his book and got up. “we could take supper together. It has been a while.”

Laurent regarded Damen thoughtfully. “Yes, that would be ideal.”

They left the library together, and Damen thought of the strange peacefulness of it. Laurent with a book was a much more amiable companion than without. He was almost a different person, relaxed, bright-eyed and enthusiastic. Damen shot Laurent a side-glance. Laurent was staring ahead as they walked, a small frown on his forehead. He seemed to be solving a puzzle in his head.

Damen caught himself smiling and told himself that he simply felt how Auguste felt towards a smart, younger brother.

“You prefer books to people,” Damen pointed out.

Laurent turned to Damen. “Yes. Books do not betray you. They do not kill your family.”

“You’ve always loved books?”

“Auguste said so. I’ve been reading for as far back as I can remember. Mother loved books as well, obviously. She was my influence.”

Damen let silence hang over them again as they walked towards the dining room. The supper table had been set for two, probably as Laurent had ordered. The meals were set at either end of the supper table, which was reasonably long. They would hear each other if they made their voices clear enough, but yelling was not at all necessary.

“How do you find the book so far?” Laurent asked all of a sudden as they were going through the main course after a long, almost awkward quiet.

“I quite like it,” Damen replied. “Have you read it before?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you have.”

“You overestimate my reading prowess,” Laurent said, wearing a small smile. “But I have perused most of the fictional works. Reading is the only thing that makes me feel like myself.”

Damen tilted his head in inquiry, hoping that Laurent would explain himself. Expectedly, Laurent did not. But Damen supposed he understood what Laurent meant: reading for Laurent was being like his old self, before the tragedy of his family and before the sudden responsibilities came about.

He pitied Laurent a little for that. He stole a glimpse of Laurent who was then quietly focused on the venison. Would Laurent have grown as manipulative and as detached had Auguste not died?

“Anything to say?” Laurent asked after realizing Damen had been watching him.

Damen blinked. He was not going to admit that he had just been staring and contemplating Laurent. “I wondered whether you would still honor your promise.”

“Which?”

“That you’d go to the Club with me.”

“I was only waiting for the right time seeing as we both have been occupied. This Friday should do.” Laurent paused to chew on a bite of meat. “You would be delighted to know that the new carriage has arrived. It will comfortably accommodate you. Hopefully.”

That Friday, Laurent was dressed in his usual dark colors - this time of a blue so deep it reminded Damen of the night sky. In contrast, Damen wore a red jacket with gold piping just so they would not look like they were attending a funeral rather than a casual gathering.

Damen was pleased to know that he did fit comfortably in the new carriage that Laurent had ordered, with several inches above his head. Laurent, though not quite small in build, still had at least a foot above his head.

“Do you have a few words to suggest on how I might ‘charm’ allies into my cause?” Laurent asked as the carriage rolled away.

“Answer their questions honestly. Do not blackmail them.”

“I didn’t imagine that truth is the only answer.”

“I imagine not. You like to sidestep, bend and manipulate the truth.”

Laurent, who had his head resting against the back of a hand propped on the armrest of the carriage, arched a brow. “And you disapprove of dishonesty.”

“Who approves of it?” Damen challenged, knowing that had Auguste been alive, Auguste would not have allowed Laurent to turn into someone so slithery.

“It is a necessary weapon for my survival.”

“Against deceptive people. Not necessarily to honest ones.”

“Instruct me tonight, then. I shall be perfectly honest and obedient.”

Damen huffed disbelievingly.

“You don’t think I’m capable of it? How about a wager: if I am able to win allies by being open and truthful, I win. Otherwise, you win.”

“The mere fact that there is a stake sullies your intentions.”

“Of course.” Laurent smiled without feeling. “Because I am not capable of truthfulness.”

Damen frowned at Laurent’s reaction. He hated that Laurent’s sense of humor was so dry he could not tell when Laurent joked or when Damen should know that he had crossed the line. “What will be at stake?”

Laurent raised his head in mild surprise and disbelief. “The loser owes the winner one favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Anything. To be collected at any time the winner chooses.”

Which, Damen thought, was just as well as he considered boons that he could ask from Laurent. There was the support for his campaign against his brother or the use of the spy network, but it would render his prize useless as Laurent had already offered both freely. 

“I trust in your fairness.” Laurent’s mouth noticeably quirked up in amusement.

“Then that is a deal.”

Laurent put out a hand and shook hands with Damen.

When they arrived, Laurent strolled into the Gentleman’s Club with cat-like caution; he glanced around him, head held high, and pointedly ignored the women on men’s laps. He walked a few feet away from Damen, looking around for space that was probably free of debauchery and alcohol.

“Damen!” 

Damen turned and spotted an Earl from Barbin.

“Would it be Ianora again to -” The nobility abruptly stopped and froze at the sight of Laurent. “Ahh, Arles. It has been a while. Your husband managed to convince you to come, I see.”

“No, I do not believe he will be requiring a woman tonight,” Laurent said coolly. “And, yes, he can be quite persuasive.” He turned to face Damen and lightly rested a hand on Damen’s arm. “Is there any activity you’d like to recommend? Not involving women of course.”

Damen saw the Earl watch this exchange. “I believe you can join us in a game of poker. Belloy is losing badly, I will advice him to give up his seat,” the Earl offered.

“Am I allowed to deal?” Laurent asked.

The Earl visibly tensed. “We take turns.”

“Are you joining?” Laurent asked Damen. His eyebrow was arched, and his lips were upturned at one corner. Somehow, Damen could tell that Laurent knew he was bad at the game.

“I’d rather watch,” Damen said. 

“Very well. But don’t sit where you can see my hand.”

Damen should have expected that poker was a game Laurent would be good at. Laurent was good at keeping his face carefully blank, and could intimidate others into folding. By the third round, Damen could not help smirking and smiling to himself because of how Laurent had bluffed his way into a round after winning the previous one. After a few more rounds, everyone else but Laurent had a looser tongue and a lighter purse. It was even easier for Laurent to win rounds sober as he was.

“This is why we don’t like having you around,” Belloy said, roaring in laughter as Laurent left the poker table and joined Damen and Belloy at a nearby table. “You’re too good at this game. You always go home richer and us poorer. If you came here more often, we’d all be deep in debt.”

“I don’t do it for the coins,” Laurent said lightly, sinking into the armchair next to Damen and assuming a relaxed pose, with one leg extended and head propped on one hand. “It’s the game I like.”

“Then next time, don’t join the bets.”

“But where is the challenge in that?”

Soon, a small group had gathered around Laurent. It consisted mostly of people whom Damen knew Laurent could turn to his cause, but some people whom Damen had never met also joined in, perhaps out of curiosity. Laurent was not completely warm, he kept his barbed remarks and joked with a foul mouth that drew the others even more. Belloy had managed to draw close to Laurent throughout the night, offering drinks that Laurent turned away, and laughing louder than Laurent’s jokes merited. Damen frowned as he watched.

“Did I win?” Laurent asked as they settled into their carriage, Laurent richer but sober, Damen feeling warm from the alcohol.

“I suppose,” Damen conceded. “You have made friends. And perhaps even a suitor in Belloy. I’d say he’s half in love with you.”

“I need supporters, not suitors,” Laurent pointed out.

“A suitor would do anything for you.”

Laurent tilted his head and peered at Damen. “I don’t need suitors when I have a husband.”

Damen wrinkled his brows. “Then are you implying that I don’t need bedmates when I have a husband?”

Laurent looked at Damen strangely. “I have a role for my husband to fulfill, and he fulfills that perfectly. I have no use for suitors. You, on the other hand, have a use for bedmates that your husband cannot satisfy.”

“Thank you for clarifying that.”

They were quiet the rest of the way, Damen choosing to rest his head after a night of inebriation and thinking that he would rather not spend the rest of his working brain on a banter with Laurent. He tried not to ponder why Laurent was so opposed to having a suitor, especially when, in Damen’s opinion, Belloy would do anything Laurent asked. Had Laurent gone soft that he failed to see the value of someone he could manipulate?

Damen had gone into a nap when he was jerked awake by a sudden halt of the carriage. He sat up straight, alert, when he heard voices.

“Your Grace,” came the knock on the carriage door. It was Jord’s voice.

Damen pushed the door open. “What happened?”

“The horses and the coachman -”

Damen made to step out but Laurent shot out a hand to grip Damen’s arm and stop him.

“They were shot by arrows. Orlant is surveying the area. I don’t think it’s safe to stay here. But we only have two horses now, mine and Orlant.”

Laurent’s hold on Damen’s arm tightened that it almost hurt. Laurent was breathing heavily, his eyes on the floor of the carriage. Damen could almost see the screws working in Laurent’s brain. “Don’t get out until I say so,” Laurent said, and slipped out of the carriage.

“I’m perfectly capable of defending myself,” Damen argued, ready to get out but Laurent had stilled him with a look so dark that Damen could not understand. He took a deep breath, and shook his head. He stepped out of the carriage and walked beside Laurent.

“You are miserably incapable of following simple instructions,” Laurent hissed at him.

“I don’t see why I have to stay when you are in fact the target.” Damen followed Laurent who walked to the front of the carriage.

Whoever had been the archers (Damen was sure it was a team for it to have been done so quickly) were quite skilled. The horses were hit with several arrows to the lungs while the coachman with one to the heart and one to the neck. The archers could have hit Jord and Orlant perfectly as well, but did not do so and it was a calculated move on their part. They were not sent to kill Laurent. They were sent to threaten.

“It’s a warning,” Laurent said in a low voice, staring at the horses’ dead bodies. “He knows I’m doing something.”

**to be continued~**


	6. Long Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, this is an exploration of Damen and Laurent as characters and the progress of their relationship with the plot on the side (instead of the other way around). I wanted to play with the idea of them being in a constant push and pull (particularly, Damen) and, well, reversal of something that I'm sure a lot of you have already caught on so this will be a bit frustrating sometimes. But I hope it still keeps you interested.

Orlant came back empty-handed. He had not been able to catch up to the archers, who, judging by the angle of arrows into the horses’ and coachman’s bodies, had been hiding in the trees. Laurent was not surprised by this, and he simply nodded when Jord suggested that they should leave the place as soon as possible.

“Shall we hitch our horses to the coach, Your Grace?” Jord asked.

But, Damen considered, that meant leaving a guard horseless to deal with the bodies. Plus, hitching just one not carriage-trained horse to drag the coach would simply be too inefficient. Laurent probably saw the problem too for he decided, “Damen and I will take the bigger horse back to the manor. Orlant, you stay behind and wait while Jord reports this to the constable. I want his wife informed of what happened. We shall send horses for the carriage.”

Jord’s horse was bigger than Orlant’s, and, as Laurent pointed out, would be more amenable to double riders. Laurent urged Damen to mount first and then swung himself to the horse as well. Damen felt Laurent settle on the pillion behind him, Laurent’s thighs straddling his hips as Laurent adjusted himself closer to Damen. Laurent slipped his arm underneath Damen’s and folded his fingers together over Damen’s midsection.

Laurent was quiet throughout the slow ride back to the manor. Damen could practically hear the gears working in Laurent’s brain, and he knew better than to make a comment on how Laurent’s hands had slipped dangerously low on Damen’s belly, or that Laurent’s hips was too close to Damen’s for comfort. Damen sat on the main saddle and did his best to relax, despite the slow, absentminded way Laurent’s fingers brushed the lowest point of his stomach.

Even when they reached the stables, Laurent just slipped off the horse, gave instructions to a stableboy and headed into the manor. Not sure of what was expected of him, Damen followed shortly behind, careful not to disturb Laurent’s silent thought process. He was slowly learning this of Laurent: that Laurent dealt with matters by drawing himself from others and caging himself in a shell of cerebration where he turned problems inside out and deliberated the worst, best and outrageous ways to circumvent them.

Laurent headed straight to his office and poured himself a goblet of water before sitting on the high backed chair behind his desk. He took a long gulp of water and stared at the walls past Damen.

Damen, still standing with hands on his back, uncertain if he was wanted, finally asked, “Should I leave and see if I can help Jord?”

Laurent did not seem surprised to find that Damen had followed. His gaze lingered on Damen for a long, strange moment. “If you wish,” he said tonelessly.

What Damen wished was to be not so mired in this feud between the remaining (and perhaps most complicated) members of this family. But he was Auguste’s friend, and he had already promised to help Laurent. He was honor-bound to offer whatever assistance he could provide, if Laurent were willing to accept it.

Damen walked over to a low table near the hearth where a bottle of wine was set, and helped himself to some wine before walking back towards Laurent. “What do you intend to do?”

Laurent’s eyes flicked towards Damen, who sat in front of the desk. “If my contacts fail me, then perhaps, I should look things up myself.”

Furrowing his brow, Damen took a sip of wine. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing that should involve you,” Laurent said dismissively. He pulled out a sheet of paper from one of his drawers under the desk and grabbed a quill. 

“You have already involved me.”

Laurent breathed impatiently. “Can you, for once, try to not lend yourself to disaster? I will not allow you to be further embroiled in this fight.”

“By marrying me and making me an additional person between your Uncle and your title, you have put me in harm’s way. He would try to kill me whether you live or not to get what he wants. So at least let me help, if it might increase both our chances of survival.”

The corners of Laurent’s lips tightened with whatever retort he was restraining. His eyes were dangerously narrowed.

“I warned you that I would not be a submissive husband. Do you regret your decision now?”

“You did warn me,” Laurent said tersely, but he noticeably ignored the question. He bided his time mulling over Damen’s offer to help. He had, as Damen had surmised before, a puzzling overconcern for Damen’s safety, even after Damen had proven that he was capable of defending himself.

Damen had half the mind to ask, but he knew that the question would slip right off Laurent, just like other questions thrown at him. It was unfair and frustrating.

“What is it?”

Taken aback, Damen blinked at Laurent.

“There’s something on your mind. It’s written plainly on your face. What is it?”

Damen wanted to counter with a challenge of telling Laurent to speak about what was on his mind too. But he knew that it would make Laurent draw back, and Damen would then have wasted a chance to get a straight answer. “Your caution for my safety is rather disconcerting.”

Laurent raised a brow. “Should I be concerned that my husband would rather throw his life away instead of accepting the choice to keep it?”

“Laurent.”

They held each other’s gaze for a few moments, Laurent stubbornly evading and Damen forcibly willing Laurent to answer the question. 

Damen could not help feeling triumphant when something of a rare incidence occurred: Laurent gave in and answered, “There has already been too much casualty due to my Uncle’s ambition. I do not need any more collateral damage, especially if it is within my capacity to prevent it.” He pressed his lips and narrowed his eyes at Damen. “So as I keep telling you, stop purposely courting danger.”

“I would only if you took your own advice,” Damen stated. 

The corners of Laurent’s lips curled up wryly. “Why should my safety matter? It’s not as if you hold affection for me. If I die, you gain my title and my land.”

Damen frowned. He could not tell Laurent that, in the privacy of his thoughts, he had sworn to Auguste that he would try his best to keep Laurent safe. “I have no interest in your title. You know it. You told me it’s one of the reasons you chose me to marry.”

Damen studied Laurent, who coolly gazed back at him. Laurent was perhaps so tired that he blundered in his arguments. Otherwise, Damen knew he would not have gotten the upperhand in a vocal argument twice in a row. Damen saw the subtle signs of exhaustion in Laurent, the sag of Laurent’s usually straight shoulders and the furrow on his brows that normally only moved when Laurent was spilling sarcasm. He remembered how Jokaste often preferred to be alone after a night of socialization, and realized that, in the same way, Laurent must have found the Club gathering a chore and that on top of the ambush.

Laurent suddenly said, “If you’re so willing to help, wear something you usually wear for business and meet me at the stables in an hour.”

“You need rest -”

“Timing is extremely important. But if you would rather rest -”

Damen wanted to groan. “I will meet you in an hour.”

Damen trudged to his room wondering what scheme Laurent had up his sleeve. He was not sure why he was doing exactly as Laurent instructed, but he did change into simpler clothing: dark pants and a pinstriped vest. The shirt had gone too and was replaced with something practical; it was too frilly for business. He completed the attire with his usual boots and set off to the stables.

He was slightly offended when he found Laurent at the stables garbed in the same set of clothes in which he had gone to the Club. He was patting his horse that was happily chewing what probably was an apple. “You did not change,” he stated.

“Not yet,” Laurent said. 

The horse nudged Laurent’s arm with its wet muzzle, and he procured another apple from the saddlebag. As the horse munched on the treat, Laurent led it out of the stables and then swung himself to its back. Damen followed with his horse a few paces behind. He let Laurent lead the way without asking where they were going. With Laurent, asking a question often led to more questions with all of them unanswered.

“This,” Laurent said, as they took to the forest – which was the more sure surreptitious way of getting out of the Veretian grounds, “I suppose, could be taken as that ride we had talked about.”

Blinking, Damen almost asked what Laurent meant but suddenly remembered he had promised Laurent a ride. With Charls’ illness and with tonights events, Damen had nearly forgotten that open and vague invitation. He would honor it, of course, but he did not think Laurent would actually think of something so trivial at the moment. “I thought the point was to relax and entertain ourselves. This is hardly relaxing.”

“No? You’d like a picnic, wouldn’t you?” Laurent asked. “You seem the type, frolicking near a river with a lover while the horses graze.”

Damen frowned. He had, in fact, done that quite a few times in Ios and in his mother’s estate.

“Pity. I do not frolic. Nor am I your lover.”

Damen did not point out that his husband was allowed to be as intimate as a lover. The idea, when it came to him, was so strange that he immediately banished it. Imagining Laurent carousing with him as his lover was breaking his mind open. Laurent, sweet and yielding, just did not and would not happen. He had to berate himself for even considering it of Auguste’s brother. It was the moon, Damen concluded, and the way it shone upon Laurent’s loosely braided hair and the comfortable mood that Laurent was contriving that were to blame for his errant thoughts.

“What would you be doing by the bank of a river?” Damen asked, if only to break the growing silence.

“Reading,” Laurent answered simply.

“Of course.”

“I am exceedingly boring.”

They made their way through the forest down a path that was unfamiliar to Damen, making idle talk of their chose pastimes. Soon they emerged from what seemed to be the eastern part of town, where Charls’ shop was. As Laurent urged his horse to amble to the direction of the warehouse, Damen said, “You can’t be thinking of going to our shop.”

Laurent turned to him and eyed him steadily. “Why not?”

They, unsurprisingly, stopped in front of the warehouse and led their horses to the stables where there were two free stalls (one was, in fact, for Damen’s horse, the other was for Charls’).

“Explain,” Damen demanded after he and Laurent had secured their horses.

Laurent’s plan, it turned out, involved driving a wagon full of clothing and masquerading as an assistant of Damen’s so that they may slip into a tavern a little more than a couple of hours’ ride away. It was, he said, most likely where the archers would spend some of their price for the ambush, comfortably away from Arles and halfway from Chastillion.

“You think they collected from Chastillion? Then we will be there early. And how are you certain we’re getting the right inn?”

“We both know that my Uncle does not deal directly with mercenaries. He uses a middleman to hire them. I have my suspicions. I just need confirmation so that I will not be pulling out one of Huet’s men and reassigning him to the wrong place.”

To Damen’s surprise, Laurent had started stripping off his jacket and breeches. Damen turned and walked away towards the shop. He was already here. He might as well check.

“Modest, aren’t you?” He heard Laurent’s remark before he left the stables. He wasn’t sure if Laurent had chuckled.

When he went back the stables, Laurent had donned on a pair of khaki, shapeless trousers with an old shirt that used to be white. His hair was hidden bundled beneath a cap, and he had managed to find coal to color his brows and sideburns. Damen knitted his brows. Laurent’s elegant facial features and pristine skin stuck out sorely in the ill-fitting clothes.

“You don’t approve?” Laurent asked.

“People will recognize you.”

“No, they won’t. They wouldn’t think that the high and mighty Duke of Arles would descend to wearing a servant’s clothing. They would look at me and see a young man who hasn’t yet found a station or a lady that will suit his fine looks.”

Damen’s eyebrows rose. “Fine looks?’

Laurent tilted his head. “Perhaps you disagree but my suitors usually tell me so. Assessment of one’s looks, after all, is a matter of taste.”

Damen pressed his lips and bit back his words, that, no, he did not disagree, and that even with dark hair that contrasted starkly with his overfine skin and blue eyes, Laurent was still vastly attractive.

“Besides,” Laurent continued, “Most people will not know what the Duke of Arles looks like. And I will confine myself mostly to the shadows while you talk to people.”

“Me again.”

“I told you, you deal well with people.”

They loaded one of the wagons with clothing, set up the horses with it and went southward. They passed the Gentleman’s Club and drove an hour further. They stopped at the first inn they saw, which also happened to be the first decently-sized inn within two or three towns’ radius. Late as it was, a lot of people were still having drinks. A group of men had gone raucous after what looked like a generous amount of ale. Damen gazed around for a familiar face, and found Mathis, a local tailor whom he regularly supplied cloth, in a table with three other men. He stole a side-glance at Laurent, who nodded.

“Damen! How have you been?” Mathis called as he saw Damen approach. “Who’s this?”

“My assistant – er -”

“Laurianos,” Laurent offered. Damen frowned at the name, but dismissed it for coincidence. 

“He’s new,” Damen added, to save his stumble of forgetting his companion’s name.

“Whatever happened to Ilyes?” Mathis asked, his eyes returning to Damen after an appreciative study of Laurent.

“He is still my assistant but he helps in bookkeeping now,” Damen said, glad to be telling this truth at least.

Mathis introduced Damen to his friends who were likewise tailors of some noblemen. Damen looked for signs if they recognized Laurent but thankfully saw none. They discussed Charls’ health, the price of cloth and some news and rumors in town. He was surprised to know that they had heard of his marriage to Laurent.

“One would think you’ll be sitting your ass in Arles, being married to its Duke.”

Damen shook his head. “Who would manage Charls’ business if I merely sat back in Arles?”

“How is the Duke? We heard he’s frigid,” Mathis’ friend, Alan, asked.

Knowing that Laurent did not particularly mind his less than radiant reputation, Damen said, “He is not particularly hostile.”

Damen felt a soft touch to his lower back and he thought that perhaps Laurent did mind. But instead, Laurent subtly nodded towards the door of the inn, where two men with quivers on their backs entered. They were, as most archers went, on the leaner side. They looked neither fierce nor suspicious as they settled on a far table, closer to the bar. Seeing the disadvantage of their position, and how Mathis would suspect if Damen decided to transfer to another table to be alone with his assistant, Damen said, “Laurianos, buy us drinks and some food. Also ask the keeper if he has a spare room.”

Laurent turned to him, blinked wonderingly, and finally said, “Yes, sir,” before leaving to speak with the barkeeper.

Damen pretended that nothing was going on as he spoke with the tailors. He occasionally threw glimpses at Laurent who must have kept the barkeeper busy to buy himself time to eavesdrop to the archers. The drinks and the food took long enough and Laurent came back with the tray looking satisfied. Damen shared the drinks and food with the tailors and lingered till he was full.

A maid led them to what must be one of the most expensive rooms in the inn and told them that the bath has already been prepared for one, if they needed more warm water, then they would have to pay.

“No room with two beds?” Damen inquired as he shrugged off his vest.

“None that is free,” Laurent said, staring at the bed. “I’ll take the bath first.”

“Very well.”

Laurent emerged from the bathroom completely blonde again, shirtless, and using a towel to dry his hair. His chest was pink where he must have scrubbed hard. Damen had to look away as he made his way to the bathroom. Laurent left enough warm water for Damen’s use, and Damen stepped out feeling immensely relaxed despite the long night.

“What did you discover?” He asked, approaching the fire. Laurent had sequestered the armchair near the hearth, and had thankfully thrown on his shirt. Damen sat on the wooden floor near the armchair and shook his hair with his hands to dry it. His hair had gotten unruly, and less manageable. Perhaps, he decided, he should have it cut.

“That Govart dealt directly with the archers.”

Damen looked up at Laurent, who lounged comfortably on the chair. “Who is Govart?”

“He is my Uncle’s favorite lackey. But he’s all brawn and no brains. I don’t think he’s behind the attack on you. Or I suppose my Uncle plans it all and just makes sure Govart executes the plan faithfully. Either way, now I know he’s near here. I can set Huet to track him as soon as possible. Uncle moves him around so much, we lost track of him in Marches.”

“That can’t be comfortable for him,” Damen pointed out.

“Govart is content enough where there is a brothel and a tavern.”

“Do you think Govart could have killed your brother?” Damen said with a hearty yawn.

“Not himself. He is not stealthy enough for it. But I know he recruits the men for those jobs. I need something on him that will make him give me the information that I want. He just keeps evading us.” Laurent said the last words with obvious dissatisfaction. “But, go, take the bed.”

“Where will you be sleeping if I took the bed?” Damen asked, getting to his feet.

“Here,” Laurent said, patting his chair. “This can’t take your size. I don’t imagine you would be comfortable.”

Damen glanced at the bed and said, “The bed is big enough for the two of us. I don’t see why any of us has to sleep so uncomfortably.”

Laurent, for reasons known only to himself, gave this a long thought. Laurent, Damen thought wryly, made a complication out of everything – even something so simple as sleeping arrangements.

“Or is this modesty?” Damen said irritably. “I won’t be sleeping in the nude if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Laurent’s eyes widened.

It was that then. Rather impatiently, Damen said, “I do not intend to throw a leg over you. But if it makes you safer, by all means, sleep on the chair.” He moved to the bed, threw the blanket over himself, rolled to his stomach and fell straight to sleep.

Damen woke up facing a sleeping Laurent. So he did retreat to the bed after all, Damen thought sourly. But, staring at Laurent, he found that he could not stay angry for too long. Laurent slept like a child, curled up on his side, in a tight a ball as possible. His face was so serene Damen had difficulty reconciling it with Laurent’s usual cold expression. He marvelled at it absent-mindedly, until Laurent blinked awake and stared back at him, looking bewildered.

Laurent was the one to break eye contact. He sat up and gathered his hair into a ponytail. “I’ll order breakfast.”

Before they left, Laurent had smudged his eyebrows and hair with the charcoal. He looked at his feet, in a way that most shy servants did, as their wagon left the town. Damen did not observe anything suspicious on the way. Since they had roused late, they reached the manor after luncheon. They parted with curt nods and set off to their own chambers.

Damen was having afternoon tea later that day, reading a report from the warehouse in his parlor, when a footman announced Laurent. He looked up from the paper, puzzled. “What do you need?”

“When I come to see you,” Laurent said, occupying the chair across Damen, “Must it always be because I need something from you?”

“Has it ever been otherwise?” Damen asked.

Laurent watched him placidly, his face devoid of emotion. “This time perhaps it is for want of understanding.”

Damen set his paper aside and eyed Laurent inquiringly.

“You misinterpreted my hesitation last night,” Laurent went. “I never thought you would attempt to, shall I say, mount me in my sleep. I would never think that of you.”

“Then why?”

Damen watched Laurent pause to think and skim through the many reasons Laurent had.

“You know that I am not used to having people around,” Laurent said evenly. “I prefer a wild berth all for myself. It was simply that. I - ” He hesitated. “I trust you. I wouldn’t have married you otherwise. I want you to know that.”

Damen was not entirely sure how he was expected to respond. Laurent made to leave, almost as if he wanted to do nothing else but flee, but Damen said, “Wait.”

Laurent turned to him, halfway to the doorway. Even as he spun his head quickly, he had managed to look regal.

Damen held Laurent’s gaze. “I’m sorry I’m prone to misunderstanding you,” Damen said.

“Understanding me requires a lot of effort that not a lof of people are willing to spare. It’s – I’m used to it.”

Thinking to himself, Damen studied Laurent. He realized that to say that Laurent did not care about what was said about him was not quite true; he had simply steeled himself against it – all the accusations of being frigid, cold and ruthless. “Still, I apologize for the outburst. I will try to be more sympathetic in the future.”

Laurent’s eyes widened to a deep, glittering blue for a moment before they sank back to the usual indifference. “It is not expected, but it will be appreciated.”

Once Laurent had left, Damen leaned back and passed a hand across his face. Damen wanted to speak with Auguste and tell him that his younger brother was the most perplexing person Damen had ever known. He was a walking conundrum; often confident but sometimes displayed uncertainty, often cold but sometimes showed warmth, often aloof but sometimes showed that he did seek companionship. “What am I supposed to do about him?” Damen muttered aloud, as if Auguste were in the room with him.

Damen sought Laurent that night and found him in the dining room, having supper by himself. Laurent would have said he was used to dining alone, but to Damen he looked lonely. He realized that Laurent had been this, alone and isolated, since Auguste had passed away. He dealt with things on his own; ran the estate by himself (at least the things that his Uncle allowed him to run) and fought his Uncle’s pressures on his own. It was, he realized, what Charls had long told him: that Laurent has had no one to care for him for a long time.

While Damen was not prepared for the full responsibility, as Laurent’s husband, he was supposed to shoulder some of it. But, unfortunately, each time he tried to get close, he found himself retreating a little due to some misunderstanding or a gripe about an aspect of Laurent’s character – only to find that he had misconstrued Laurent.

“I thought you wanted to have supper in your rooms. You should have told me earlier,” Laurent said, pulling the string of a bell as Damen occupied the chair across Laurent. A servant immediately came to his side, and he asked for another set of food. He did not eat as they waited for Damen’s food.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” Damen asked.

Laurent arched a brow. “I will be reviewing monthly accounts. Why?”

“The ride that you wanted -”

“Here I thought you’ve had too much riding over the past day. Apparently not.” Laurent’s lips, remarkably, were quirked up to a small smile. “But certainly I can make time for that.”

**to be continued~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually prefer Laurianos to Lamen, and so I gave it to myself. I will try to update within a couple of weeks? The keyword is 'try.' But, still, thank you for reading this. I hope you would stay with me although updates are rather slow.


	7. Moment's Respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I got buried in that ice skating anime (you know what that is) and I'm still currently trying to recover. But I managed to spout this chapter. I guess I'll just not promise when I'll update? Let's hope I'll manage to update a lot before winter break ends. (And yeah I'm not dropping this.)

Laurent did not miss breakfast with Damen the next day. However, he had done away with the morning’s gazette and was playing with a wire loop puzzle, trying to get a ring out of two other loops of wire. Damen had seen this kind of puzzle in Laurent’s bedroom, and a particularly large one on of the shelves in Laurent’s office but he had never seen Laurent solve one. Damen found himself more fascinated with Laurent than with the puzzle; Laurent was utterly focused on his toy that he had not seen (or did not pay attention to) Damen join him at table. Laurent wore a slight frown, his fingers following the loop and deliberating how best to take the ring out. When at last he moved the ring, it came free within a few seconds.

Finally, Laurent looked up and nodded at Damen in acknowledgment, his eyes bright with the mental exercise. He raised his hands, one holding the ring and the other holding the complicated wire loops. “Would you like to try?” His voice was low, his raised eyebrows spoke a mild challenge.

Damen eyed the wires suspiciously and then Laurent who seemed to be amused with himself. “Fine,” Damen said. Laurent put the ring back within the loops and handed the puzzle to Damen.

When he was able to solve the puzzle within a minute, Damen felt inordinately proud of himself. He handed back the pieces to Laurent. “Do you have these things commissioned?”

Laurent took his toy and set it beside his breakfast plate. “Mother had a book of wire and wood puzzles and I gave the book to craftsmen to make the puzzles for me. They also make money from the puzzles they duplicate.” He paused and helped himself to some toast. “What would you like to do this afternoon?” Laurent asked as Damen poured coffee. “I don’t suppose looking for a clearing for a short nap or a read is something you fancy.”

“You know the territory better. What can be done?”

“I could show you other routes like the one we went through last night. They may become useful.”

In case of attack, was what Laurent meant to say.

“I thought the point was to relax?” Damen said.

“A ride is often relaxing for me. I don’t see why it can’t be useful at the same time - unless you have other ideas, of course,” Laurent said matter-of-factly. “I did ask.”

Smiling to himself, shaking his head, Damen said, “You did ask.”

Laurent arched a brow. “Did I say anything you find amusing?”

Still wearing a small smile, Damen said, “It is very much like you to multitask.”

“I like to be efficient.”

“Do you not… simply stop thinking or working?”

“I find that using my brain is relaxing,” Laurent said simply. “Auguste used to relax by swinging his sword. I relax by stretching my imagination and reading. I do stop to read, and reading is not work at all. Besides, how am I going to feel comfortable when I know things aren’t getting done?” Laurent leaned back. “I suppose you find swordfights and throwing my men around relaxing?”

“Yes, and drinking and going to the Club. There are many things a man can do for leisure.”

“Reading, riding and puzzles are my preferences,” Laurent stated. He paused for a sip of coffee, and then, “We hardly match. If we were arranged to be married, we would not suit at all.”

Damen crossed his arms and raised a brow. “Not at all?”

Laurent tilted his head in mild wonder. “Is there any reason to believe we would?”

“Is there even a need to be hypothetical when we essentially had an arranged marriage ourselves?” Damen replied. But he took his time answering the question. Again, he found himself surprised that after some evaluation, he and Laurent were not quite a bad match. They had misunderstandings and yet they had, perhaps even better than most married couples, smoothed them over. For something they had forced, Damen was wont to believe that they found comfort if not slight enjoyment in each other’s company, if their shared breakfasts were anything to go by. And despite Laurent’s penchant for mind games and elusive words Damen knew that he had managed to keep up. “We are not stellar. But we are not so terrible as married people go.”

This certainly piqued Laurent’s interest. “Do explain.”

“I know some marriages so tumultuous the married couple are practically estranged. Some cannot stand each other, not even for appearance’s sake. At least we do not hate each other… Unless you do hate me?” Damen meant the question as a joke.

But Laurent’s silence showed that he took the question too seriously. “No, I don’t hate you,” Laurent said in a clear, deliberate manner. “Perhaps, it helps to have similar goals,” he pointed out.

They attended their own, separate businesses after breakfast. Damen reviewed reports of the accounts for Charls’ business and was not surprised by the increase in profit. Laurent had exercised his influence on the business and had thus reeled in more customers. The members of the Club who had become friends with Damen also naturally got cloth from him. Charls’ business had long been prosperous but Damen’s partnership with Laurent made it even more so. It would have been quite beneficial for an heir if Charls had any, but it would now all go to Damen who hoped to do justice to all of Charls’ work. When he got Ios back, he promised to himself that he would expand the business further and turn it over to the people who had long worked hard and honestly with Charls.

He read letters as he ate his lunch, the one from Ylona being the most welcome. He let the meal settle on his stomach and then went off to see Laurent. Laurent was still scribbling away on a piece of parchment when Damen came in, and he had told Damen to take a seat while he finished his letter. Damen sat on a sofa, stretching his arms along the edge of its backrest. He busied his eyes, letting them roam around the room until they finally rested on Laurent.

Laurent, whose brows were slightly knitted together in concentration, was already dressed for the day’s activity. His hair was bound back in a tight, high ponytail. Its gentle waves softened the severe effect of the cut and color of Laurent’s riding leathers.

“Enjoying the sight?” Laurent asked, making Damen realize that he had been staring.

Having been caught, Damen did not see the need to pretend otherwise. “Occupied like that, you seem almost amiable.”

“Shall I take that as a compliment?” Laurent asked sharply. He folded his parchment and slid it into an envelope. “That’s rare, coming from you.”

“I didn’t know you were angling for compliments. Had I known, I would have doled them out more often. You have the sharpest tongue, the coldest gaze -”

“I am such a colorful character.”

Damen had seen how Laurent’s eyes went blank and cold despite the flippant tone of voice. This kind of Laurent, cool and aloof, was not the Laurent that Damen wanted to spend the afternoon with. “Yours is the brightest mind I know,” he said, trying to sound casual.

The effect was immediate. Laurent, eyes wide and lips parted, stared at Damen. Laurent was slow to recover from his surprise; it took a while before he cleared his throat. The reaction puzzled Damen because surely a lot of people had told Laurent so. As if checking himself, Laurent said, “Nothing that I haven’t heard of.”

Damen allowed his lips to curl up at one corner. “Then try to be something other than intelligent and then perhaps I’ll find something to praise.”

“Meek and docile? Should I aim for that?” Laurent pushed himself off his chair and said, “How about warm and welcoming?” He gestured to the door and made a low bow. “After you, my lord.”

Chuckling, Damen stood up and said, “Warm and welcoming doesn’t suit you.”

“I didn’t think so,” Laurent affirmed as they started to leave his office. “Cold and hostile it is then.”

They headed to the stables and were crossing the yard towards it when a woman stopped them in their tracks by dropping to her knees in front of Laurent. Hers was not a familiar face so Damen was sure she was not one of the staff, but she wore an apron that indicated she was a worker perhaps in town. “Your Grace,” Jord started, we tried to tell her to see you when you receive audience but she insisted.”

Damen watched Laurent assess the woman critically.

“Rise, woman. Who are you and why did you want audience with me?” Laurent asked tonelessly.

But the woman remained kneeling. When she spoke, her voice was clear but pleading. “Your Grace, the Earl of Chastillion, your Uncle, is demanding us to pay double the tax as interest for missing the payment these past three months or he will throw us out. My husband is ill and my children are still young. We cannot manage the amount by the end of the week. Please, Your Grace, please ask the Earl to give us more time.”

Damen pressed his lips. Given the nature of the relationship between uncle and nephew, Damen thought that this woman’s family was better off looking for a new home instead.

“I have no such influence on my Uncle as you believe. Even I am subject to him.”

The woman looked up at at Laurent with disappointment in her eyes. Damen could tell what the woman was thinking, that she should not have taken a chance pleading with the frigid, stone-hearted Duke of Arles. She must have been warned by her family and neighbors that her attempt would be futile but she did not listen, and now here she was.

“Did you say you have children?” Laurent asked.

“Yes, Your Grace. I have two darlings. My girl is fourteen and my boy is twelve.”

“What do they do?”

“My girl helps with embroidery of a lady’s seamstress and my boy helps in an inn.”

“Bring them here tomorrow.”

The woman frowned, obviously confused by the order.

“I will have work for them, and I will give you enough for your tax as your children’s advanced wages. Come back tomorrow, approach this guard and he will know where to take you.”

The woman almost fell over herself in gratitude. She was still bowing even as she was being led away by Jord.

Damen could not deny that he had been surprised by Laurent’s solution to the woman’s problem. He had not thought Laurent compassionate like this. But, Damen reminded himself, Laurent was Auguste’s younger brother and would have learned by example from Auguste. Damen had simply assumed that with all the warmth that had been lost due to the Earl of Chastillion’s betrayal, Laurent had lost his sense of humanity too. Damen had been wrong though, and even with the unexpected display of empathy, Laurent had not lost sight of strategy. He had found a way to help the woman without having to come head-to-head against his Uncle. 

It pleased Damen, but he did not understand why, that Laurent did not find himself above helping others. He now had an idea of how Laurent would be once he was fully functioning in the office of a Duke: efficient, strategic and, surprisingly, charitable. He pondered this as they led their horses out of the stables and set themselves in their saddles.

He must have gotten oddly reserved because after a few horse gaits, Laurent pulled up in front of him and said, “Damen. Would you rather not ride?”

“What? No. I was just immersed in my thoughts.”

Laurent raised a brow and seemed to be waiting if Damen would care to share what was on his mind.

“That was well done,” Damen said finally.

“What an odd day. I’m losing count of how many compliments you’ve given me today,” Laurent said lightly, turning his horse and slowing down so he can ride abreast Damen. “Either you’re an easy man to satisfy or I’ve outdone myself.”

“I can be quite exacting,” Damen said, half-joking.

“This day keeps getting stranger,” Laurent commented. But Damen saw the twinkle in his normally expressionless blue eyes and the ghost of a smile on his usually pursed lips. Damen thought he had done something Laurent found pleasing.

Their pace as Laurent showed Damen the many nooks and trails in the forest surrounding the manor was leisurely. They paused every now and then when small animals crossed their path. They talked about the history of Arles as they made their way through the forest, about how some of the more secret paths were made, how Arles had been defended through the sieges in the Kingdom’s history. Like Ios, Arles was a much coveted seat in the Kingdom. Both were loyal to the Crown,and were members of the King’s Inner Circle. Often in history, both fought for the Crown in times of unrest and had thus quite well-fortified forts and powerful private armies. As they discussed Arles’ history, Damen remembered that had Auguste been alive, they both would occupy important seats in the King’s Inner Circle. This time, however, Damen would be in the Circle with Laurent - or they would be if they were both able to gain back what was rightfully theirs.

They stopped at a clearing near a narrow stream. He was surprised to find that Laurent had packed food in his saddlebag. Laurent brought out a flask and metal mugs for tea and some biscuits, bread and cheese. 

“I took consideration of your desire to relax and to frolic near a body of water,” Laurent said, elegantly arranging himself on the large root of a tree. He handed Damen a mug and started pouring tea. A corner of his mouth had quirked up, and Damen thought this was an odd day indeed. Laurent seemed pleased over something, and Damen was not going to assume that the something was his company.

“Auguste and I used to come here when I was a child,” Laurent started. “We’d race up to this point and then wade in the water.”

Damen knew he should be used to moments like this, when Laurent was comfortable enough to share anecdotes from his childhood with Auguste. But it made Damen uneasy. He did not know how to respond, how to show enthusiasm despite being supposedly unfamiliar with Auguste. He had known some of the stories from Auguste himself, and ached to contribute to the story, how he knew that Auguste sometimes let Laurent win in the short races but that Laurent, blessed with riding skills, eventually won by himself. Instead, he kept silent, nodding as he sipped his tea.

Laurent had, unsurprisingly, brought a book and urged Damen to dip his feet in the cool stream. Damen did not take Laurent up on the offer but he did take a nap under the trees, lulled by the peace of the woods disturbed only by chirping birds and buzzing bugs.

He woke up to meet brilliant blue eyes watching him. There was neither hostility nor warmth in them that Damen wondered if Laurent were actually seeing him or were simply deep in thought.

“It’s about to get dark. We should head back.”

Damen nodded and got to his feet. Out of habit, he held out his hand to assist Laurent. Laurent stared at Damen’s hand, no doubt deliberating the hundred or so reasons he should reject Damen’s offer. But then, Laurent grasped Damen’s hand and pulled himself up, holding his book with his other hand.

Laurent tipped his head to the side as Damen gathered their things. “I wager I could beat you in a race.”

Damen, cradling the flask and the food wrappings in his arm, raised a brow. “Only because you have a very fast horse.”

Laurent’s lips broke into a barely visible grin. “Not if we exchanged horses.”

Damen looked at Laurent’s horse. The steed was a tall - about 16 hands - and broad dark bay. Damen knew the breed was a good one and suited Laurent’s personality and love for riding. Undoubtedly, this came from one of the best horse stocks in the kingdom, and would be unexpectedly strong despite seeming to be built mostly for speed and elegance. It could carry him fast enough for a short distance.

But Damen was more confident about his own horse, and he did not want to have to adjust to another person’s horse even though his competitor would have the same handicap. “I’ll take my own horse. What’s the prize?”

Laurent raised a brow. “Same as before, loser owes the winner a boon.”

“You haven’t even collected your prize yet,” Damen remarked.

An odd look crossed Laurent’s face, but it was gone before Damen could examine it. “I’d like more so that I have one to collect whenever it’s convenient.”

“Of course,” Damen said stiffly. Trust Laurent to have some complicated, manipulative boon to collect some day.

They decided on a route, a long one but the least rocky to make it easy on the horses. They stuffed their load into their saddlebags and settled on their horses.

At the count of three, they were off.

Damen really did try his best to catch up with Laurent. But Laurent had the faster horse and, if Damen did admit it, a slightly superior horsemanship.

Laurent who had arrived first at the stable-grounds had let his horse circle around to cool down. Laurent himself was grinning at Damen, his cheeks flushed from both the exercise and the wind blowing against his face. Strands of wavy gold hair stuck out of the lace he had used to tie his hair with. His eyes, usually sharp and cold, were bright and warm. He looked so young, so beautiful that Damen had to force himself to look elsewhere.

“This means you owe me another favor,” Laurent said.

Damen took a deep breath and looked at Laurent again. “One day you’ll have too many boons to collect and you wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

“Does that mean you think I’d win all our wagers?” Laurent asked. His eyes gleamed. He was painful to look at.

“Not if I can help it,” Damen said, trying to match the lightness of Laurent’s tone despite the caution he wanted to impose on himself.

“I do have something in mind at the moment,” Laurent’s voice was low now. “I’d like you to take care of all business and official correspondences for a few weeks while I prepare for Auguste’s memorial.”

Damen blinked at the mention of Auguste, feeling slightly guilty of his straying thoughts regarding Laurent. “Would it be exactly five years since his death?” he asked, although he knew the exact date of Auguste’s death.

Laurent nodded, his eyes now dark.

Damen knew that Laurent asked the priestesses to say a small prayer over Auguste’s grave every year, that those who most cared were invited to say good things about Auguste, and that Laurent kept vigil over the tomb after everyone has left. Damen, whom Laurent did not know was Damianos who had a close to tie Auguste, had never been invited. This would be the first time he would be able to pay his respects to his old friend. “Very well. We’ll discuss the letters that I need to address. Tell me if there’s anything I can do to help prepare for your brother’s memorial.”

Dealing with the official correspondences addressed to the Duke of Arles was, Damen had failed to expect, quite a bit of work. Reading the letters made Damen realize how much Laurent wanted the title, how much effort he exerted in easing himself into the role while making known that his Uncle’s hold on the duchy was temporary. Half of the letters consisted discussions Damen was not sure Laurent should be having especially knowing the animosity that existed between him and his Uncle. But the audacity to assert his position right under the Earl of Chastillion’s nose was very much Laurent. And that was why Laurent and Damen lived precariously under the threats of the Earl of Chastillion.

Laurent, fastidious as always, inspected the first batch of responses that Damen had written to ensure that Damen was not going to ruin his carefully crafted relations. Damen was nearly insulted by the insinuation. He had to remind himself that, as far as Laurent knew or surmised, Damen hailed from a rich family - rich enough for family feuds - but was not nobility. Not all affluent families - especially among those whose wealth were recently acquired - sent sons away for formal education.

“Hm,” Laurent said, inserting a letter into an envelope, “This will do.”

Damen arched a brow. “No fault at all? I thought for a moment that you did not believe I could write.”

Laurent stared at him. “I didn’t say you couldn’t write. I only wanted to see if you could communicate diplomatically on my behalf.” He sounded impatient, almost as if he were the one being insulted by Damen’s gibe.

“Does my writing suffice then?”

“Yes,” Laurent quipped. “More than enough for a merchant.”

Damen pursed his lips.

“Do keep going,” Laurent said. He pulled a wad of envelopes from inside his jacket and placed them on top of Damen’s desk. “Here is another set of letters.”

Taking the wad of letters, Damen looked through them to check if there were any sender he was supposed to prioritize. One of the letters bore a handwriting that was all too familiar to Damen that Damen froze for a moment. “I did not know you dealt personally with the Earl of Delpha.”

Laurent shot the envelope a fleeting, uncaring glance. “We have business. Our wine comes from them, they buy our products. It might be a good idea for you to try and sell him your clothing. Nikandros of Delpha is quite level-headed and is honest. He also knew my brother.”

Damen wondered just how often Laurent did business with Nikandros, if they have ever met outside Court functions. But, Damen assured himself, Laurent had not gone to Court since they have been married; Laurent would not have dropped any hint that would make Nikandros wonder about the Duke of Arles’ husband who was a namesake of who should now be seated as the Duke of Ios. Not that Damen did not want Nikandros to know the truth. The Earl of Delpha, in fact, would be the first people to know about Damen’s survival - but only when Damen was ready, and from Damen’s own lips. He owed his friend as much.

Laurent, knitting his brows together, took the envelope from Damen. “He rarely writes. Our deal is self-sufficient, and it usually goes through my Uncle.” He broke the seal of Delpha, two ravens facing each other within a coat of arms, and scanned the letter with his eyes, his face neutral as he read. “It’s an invitation to try this year’s wine. I have the first pick, next to the King, for purchasing as much as I have last year.”

Damen knew that gesture of courtesy the Delphans offered their best customers. Had Damen been in Ios, he would have the first pick. But Nikandros and Kastor did not get on well with each other, even before and - Damen could imagine - especially after Kastor had usurped the title.

“You can tell him that the offer is generous but I know nothing about the delicacies of wine-tasting,” Laurent said dismissively. “Unless you intend to go? You seem to enjoy Delphan wine. It is an exercise in diplomacy and a chance to sell your cloth.”

The sudden offer and the possibility that it opened made Damen gape Laurent. 

“No?” Laurent asked.

Clearing his throat, Damen said, “It depends on when he is opening his cellar.”

“The letter does not say. You could ask him. It shouldn’t be too soon.”

Damen focused his eyes on the letter in Laurent’s hand. This was an opportunity that he shouldn’t miss, and he had the perfect excuse to meet Nikandros in person. But, first, he needed a plan. “I will think about it.”

**to be continued~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are kinda happy here but they will be kinda not happy in the next chapter. I'm already apologizing. (Also, I'll try to get to the comments ASAP. ;A;)


	8. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of sex with an original character but nothing graphic.
> 
> I was supposed to update earlier but I had to work on a paper. :( But as always thank you for keeping up despite the slow updates.

Damen’s reply to Nikandros went in the form of an invitation to Auguste’s memorial. It had been Laurent’s idea to invite Nikandros who had been friends with Auguste through Damianos. It was, however, Laurent had said, a pity that Damianos could not be invited for an obvious and unfortunate reason. Neither Nikandros nor Damen had made it to Auguste’s funeral five years back; there had not been enough time to ride to Arles after the news had reached them. Instead, they paid tribute together at the grounds of the Akielon estate by building a funeral pyre that blazed till morning and by offering gifts to the temple.

The missive he sent Nikandros had been worded in formality. Damen did not want to reveal his identity in case the letter got intercepted by his or Laurent’s enemies. He did, however, draw minute, seemingly nonsensical glyphs under his signature. When they were children, they pretended to be generals at a time of war and sent each other notes written in a code they created themselves. The sense of adventure appealed to their military upbringing; they revelled in the idea of war and espionage. The cryptic message was one of the things Nikandros would immediately understand as soon as he got over the shock of the discovery that Damianos, who had been thought to be dead for three years now, was alive.

Fleetingly, Damen considered that it would have been different for a young Laurent who preferred books and horses; but a young Laurent who enjoyed puzzles, he thought with a smile, would have cracked Nikandros’ and Damen’s code had the letters fallen into his hands.

Damen rubbed the bridge of his nose before turning his attention to the set of letters that Laurent had given him. Laurent had been doing that recently, creeping into Damen’s thoughts uninvited as if it weren’t enough that Laurent had long been sauntering into Damen’s rooms without prior notice. Damen had to constantly remind himself, especially whenever he watched Laurent arrange his long limbs with elegant ease into whichever space was available to him, that Laurent was Auguste’s brother - Auguste’s _young, continent, untouchable_ brother. But Laurent, who had been pushing into Damen’s space recently, breathing down Damen’s neck as he hovered behind Damen to check whatever Damen was writing, who seemed to know exactly how Damen preferred his coffee in the mornings and tea in the afternoons, who could tease genuine laughter out of Damen with his acerbic humor, was crumbling Damen’s resolve to look but not touch, to watch but not want.

Thus, he felt immense relief as soon as he found out that Ylona was back in town. She would make him forget his mounting frustration with Laurent - or rather, with Laurent’s proximity. She would help him sever himself from his budding unwelcome attachment to Laurent.

“How long will you be away?” Laurent asked when Damen shared that he would not be coming to the manor for a few nights. Damen had invited Ylona into the manor, but Ylona had refused. Ylona had said that despite Damen’s arrangement with the Duke of Arles, the illicitness of sleeping with someone else’s husband in that someone else’s house was too much for her to be comfortable with. 

“A week or so,” Damen said vaguely. He still was not sure how long Ylona was willing to share with him. She had promised that they would work it out between themselves, personally. Her notes felt strangely secretive to him, but he would ask when they met.

Laurent’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and Damen found himself under Laurent’s scrutiny. “How about the letters?”

“I will be less than an hour’s ride away. I will come back to get them every now and then, or you can send Lazar.”

“Who will you be meeting?” Laurent's gaze on Damen was steely.

“I thought we agreed that I do not need permission for this?” Damen asked, not hesitating to make his irritation apparent.

“I am not withholding a permission for which you are not asking,” Laurent said stiffly. “But as your husband and as someone concerned for your safety, I want to know who you will be sleeping with.”

“You do not need to know. She is a friend. I trust her.”

“And here I thought you said you had no lover.”

The lack of emotion in Laurent’s voice and Laurent’s eyes made Damen frown. “She is not a lover.”

Damen could have sworn that, for one second, Laurent looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. “Fine,” Laurent said tonelessly. “Go with whomever you please. Thank you for informing me.”

Damen felt a tad ashamed of himself when Ylona rolled on her side and begged for rest after what must have been the fourth time they had climaxed that night. He had been frustrated with himself, with Laurent and with his thoughts that kept straying towards Laurent that he had taken out his frustration on Ylona. 

“You have quite a lot of pent up energy,” Ylona mumbled, resting her head on Damen’s chest. “I’ve missed you but I can hardly keep up with your stamina.”

Damen smiled apologetically, running his fingers through her hair.

“So I suppose your husband has not been making use of you?”

Damen frowned. He had not wanted to talk about Laurent, especially when he had just been spending the night trying not to think about him. But he allowed this to Ylona, knowing full well how his marriage with Laurent - rather, Laurent’s marriage with anyone - would always be an object of curiosity.

“I’m sure you've heard what he is like,” Damen replied.

“Cold, so cold people think he’d freeze the genitals off any person who tries to sleep with him,” Ylona said. “But is he, truly?”

At this, Damen found himself wrinkling his brows. He knew Laurent encouraged this image, but Damen felt that for him to affirm this popular impression of Laurent would be a disservice to Laurent who had been inexplicably (and, to an extent, discomfitingly) warm to Damen these past few weeks. So Damen settled with, “He is distant to most people. But he is not as terrible as most people make him out to be.”

Ylona lifted her head to look at Damen. “And to you? What is he like to you?”

“I am not most people.”

Letting out a small laugh, Ylona said, “I am not surprised. So then how come you haven’t slept with him yet? I know he is beautiful. You have quite an eye for beauty.”

Damen passed a hand across his face. “He is not interested in sex.”

“Hm,” Ylona said. There was implicit understanding in her voice as she added, “Perhaps you’ll be able to change his mind.”

Damen grunted in reply, indicating he did not want to talk about Laurent any longer.

He spent the next few nights having sex with Ylona in all manners possible - languid, playful, fast, fiery - with a thirst that seemed unquenchable. At the back of his mind, Damen knew the root of his problem, why despite Ylona’s efforts he wanted more. Ylona, with her sharp mind, knew it too.

“You want your husband and I am merely a stand in.” Ylona said it heartily after they had late supper in her room. She sat on the window sill, clad in a blanket she had loosely wrapped around herself more to protect her from the cold than out of modesty. From where he sat, Damen had a peek of the mounds of her full breasts. 

Ylona did not seem to mind the realization, which was one of the reasons Damen liked sleeping with her. She was smart and level-headed. She understood that what they had was a friendship that reached the bed, nothing else. Damen did not understand how he had never fallen in love with Ylona; she had a lot of things he liked in a lover: she was beautiful, intelligent, self-sufficient. But perhaps she was not sharp enough to cause injury unlike Jokaste and, Damen’s mind added unhelpfully, Laurent - though Damen was not sure he’d be close enough to Laurent to be thus inured. Nikandros, if he found out, would likely agree.

“How would you manage when I’m already in Lys?”

“Will you really not be coming back?”

Ylona gave him a pained smile. “I do want to get married, and sleeping around with a Marquis is not going to help my prospects. Besides, you know that the shop here can stand on its own now. I can finally look into expanding the business elsewhere.”

Damen puffed a loud breath.

“Don’t sound so heartbroken. If what you have been like these past few nights is an indication, even I will not be enough for you eventually.”

Damen narrowed his eyes at her, regretting how honest he had been to her.

“Will the Duke really not be wooed or you simply do not want to do the wooing?” Ylona inquired.

“It’s not easy. He’s not easy,” Damen said, crossing the room towards Ylona. “I don’t want to talk about him.” He bent down to kiss her and gathered her in his arms.

He had her on the bed, her legs wrapped around him when a knock came to the door. They stopped, sat up and pulled blankets around themselves before Ylona called, “What is it?”

A maid, Damen remembered her as Sabel, entered and bowed. “My lord, a soldier named Jord is here to see you.”

Damen furrowed his brows. Lazar usually was the one sent for letters but not at this late hour, and usually in Damen’s office at Charls’ shop. “Tell him I will be down in a moment.”

“Yes, my lord,” Sabel said, bowing before leaving the room.

“Who is he?” Ylona asked as Damen climbed out of bed.

“One of Laurent’s men,” Damen said as he started to gather his discarded clothing off the floor. Ylona also got up to do the same.

Once clothed, they made their way to the receiving room where Jord had opted to stand as he waited. Jord’s eyes fell first on Damen’s wrinkled shirt and then on Ylona’s nightgown. Damen saw Jord’s eyes flicker with disapproval. He should have found it insulting; he did not have to explain his actions to anyone, especially if Laurent did not mind the action terribly. But he knew that it was there out of some if a little misplaced loyalty, and Damen had always valued loyalty.

“What does Laurent want?” Damen asked.

“He did not send me,” Jord admitted.

Damen’s eyebrows rose. He had never known Jord to act without a form of order or permission from Laurent, and definitely never against Laurent’s wishes.

“He is not in a state fit for sending anyone -”

“What do you mean?”

“It might be best to see for yourself, my lord.”

Damen’s brain could not begin to think what had happened. Laurent caused ire in too many people that he was in a constant danger of having someone turn against him on top of the threats that the Earl of Chastillion threw their way. Damen had no notion what could have happened tonight but it must be urgent if Jord had come to fetch him without any bidding. He turned to Ylona and said, “I have to go.”

Ylona nodded. “I leave in the morning.”

“I will try to come back before then, but this might be goodbye,” Damen said, pulling her to an embrace and kissing the corner of her lips. “Write me.”

“I will.”

Jord was tense and unfriendly as they left Ylona’s house; the idea of Damen and Ylona together did not seem to sit well with him, which Damen found puzzling considering he knew Jord made use of pleasures available to most men. He was not a straightlace, and he knew that Damen’s and Laurent’s marriage was simply for convenience’s sake. He did not see how his actions could offend Jord when it did not offend Laurent.

The next time Jord opened his mouth was when they reached Laurent’s office. “His Grace is inside.” Jord opened the door, and Damen caught sight of Laurent sprawled uncharacteristically dishevelled on the sofa, the laces of his shirt undone, his exposed skin, usually immaculately alabaster had turned into an alarming crimson. On the table beside him were three bottles of wine, two empty, the other half-filled. Between the bottles was a tumbled goblet spilling wine on the table and to the carpet.

“You called me because you cannot handle a drunk Laurent,” Damen stated flatly.

“It’s -” Jord hesitated, glancing briefly at Laurent as if it were a punishable offense and then fixing his eyes on Damen. “He has never been drunk. I don’t think he’d want us to see him drunk. He’d go livid if he found out that anyone tried to touch him in this state.”

Pursing his lips, Damen watched Laurent. Jord was right, of course. Laurent, being extremely private and controlled, would not want anyone to see his vulnerabilities. “But I don’t see how I would make a difference.”

Jord tilted his head as if Damen’s words confused him. “He… will not get mad at you. Not like how he will bite our heads off.”

Sighing, Damen nodded. “All right. I’ll take him to his chambers. Send someone to clean up the mess and send Paschal to his room.”

Feeling quite unhappy with Laurent for interrupting his last night with Ylona, Damen unceremoniously pulled Laurent out of the couch only to find that Laurent’s legs had turned into jelly. Damen pressed Laurent to his side and tried to make him walk but Laurent’s head lolled and his legs dragged. Losing his patience, Damen decided to scoop Laurent in his arms to make this less of an effort.

He now knew two reasons why Laurent did not drink: he lost himself like this and he was one of those people who turned into beet with alcohol. Laurent also had his defenses down like this. Having realized that someone was carrying him, Laurent decided to be comfortable and nuzzled his head at the crook of Damen’s neck, his ragged breath bouncing off Damen’s skin, his lips too achingly close for Damen’s comfort.

Damen walked more briskly to sooner relieve himself of the torture. Holding Laurent this close made him feel as if his clothes had gotten tighter. When at last he reached Laurent’s room, he tried to pour Laurent into the bed but Laurent clung his arms around Damen’s neck, dragging Damen to bed with him.

As soon as Damen successfully peeled Laurent off him, he straightened himself for fear that Laurent might manage to wrangle him back again.

“Hot, so hot,” Laurent mumbled, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

Realizing what Laurent was doing, Damen looked away. He had seen Laurent in less but he could not discount his body’s reaction to Laurent right now, not when he had been staving off his own attraction with Laurent with little success these past few nights.

Thankfully, Paschal arrived shortly. The physician seemed to have been woken up from sleep judging by his attire. “You sent for me, my lord?’

Taking a few calming breaths, Damen nodded. “He’s so red, can you recommend something for it?”

“Ahh,” Paschal said, looking at the now shirtless Laurent who was a bright red all down to his torso and probably beyond. “We have to make sure he gets plenty of water right now. I’ll have tea prepared for him in the morning.”

“Just water?” Damen asked, surprised. He had known of people who turned red with alcohol, but not quite as red as Laurent. In all honestly, it looked deadly or was it simply Laurent’s pristine coloring that made it appear so?

“Yes, my lord. Do you think you can manage to force him to drink water?”

Damen looked helplessly at Laurent and shrugged.

“Would that be all, my lord?”

“Yes, thank you.”

A pitcher of water and an empty glass had already been set on Laurent’s bedside table probably by a servant that had the foresight for the Duke’s needs. “Laurent,” he said, shaking Laurent’s shoulder.

Laurent blearily opened his eyes and squinted at Damen. He looked at Damen as if he only realized Damen were right there in front of him. “Oh, it’s you,” Laurent said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, I am,” Damen said curtly as he poured water into the glass and put it into Laurent’s hands. “Drink.”

Like a child, Laurent obeyed but water dribbled from his lips to his throat; Damen was certain more water got into Laurent’s trousers than into Laurent’s throat.

Rolling his eyes, Damen grabbed the glass, poured more water and helped Laurent drink again and again until Laurent shook his head, batting a hand. His color had already paled from beet red to rosy pink which Damen took as a good sign.

“You’re supposed to be with your not-lover,” Laurent said, his voice slow and even.

“I am not because you decided to drink more than you can handle.”

“Of course you’d rather be in a woman’s bosom than be taking care of your husband.” There were no feelings in his words, simply a statement of fact. “Go then,” Laurent said, collapsing back to bed. In a lower voice he said, “I’m used to being alone.”

The last of Laurent’s words before Laurent buried himself under the sheets intrigued Damen. He was not quite certain if Laurent was as nonchalant as he had made himself sound. He shook off the thought however and instead made sure that Laurent’s breathing had gone slow and steady before leaving Laurent’s chambers.

Damen had time to share breakfast with Ylona and exchange proper goodbyes the next morning before he rode back to the manor. His inquiries informed him that Laurent had not been awake for breakfast, which was not unexpected. He half anticipated and half dreaded seeing what Laurent would be like after a night of inebriation.

Laurent showed up at the dining hall as Damen was halfway thru lunch. He was already impeccably dressed, but he had a permanent glower on his face which was a telltale sign of the notorious headache that followed a night of intoxication. The look was so humanizing on Laurent that Damen smiled into his meal.

“I thought you would have taken rest longer,” Damen remarked as Laurent sat on the chair across him. “I was going to send lunch to your chambers.”

“I will never understand why people like to drink.”

“Then why did you try at all?”

That Laurent did not even try to gracefully sidestep the question and just blatantly ignored it was somewhat surprising, and made Damen curious.

“Did I… say or do anything last night?” Laurent asked, his effort at pushing out the words was obvious. His face was scrunched up as if he were bracing himself for a terrible blow.

The question took Damen aback. He was tempted to lie and tease a little but did not think it wise given how Laurent looked more dangerous with a headache than without. “No, not really. You fell asleep almost immediately.”

Laurent’s shoulders relaxed. “I apologize for cutting your visit with your friend,” he said, back to his detached cool. 

“It would have ended last night anyway. She just left town this morning.”

“Is that so?” Laurent said impassively. “I promise to let you off longer on her return.”

“She will not be back.”

Noticeably, Laurent’s eyes widened before his face settled into its usual calm. “A pity.” He did not sound like he meant it.

***

Fall was slowly bleeding into winter; most of the trees had lost foliage, and the days had gotten shorter. Even Laurent started to do away with his morning ride in favor of doing drills against Damen in his private arena because of the cold. They shared meals as usual, but Damen could sense that something had changed between them since the night that Laurent had lost himself to the effects of liquor.

Laurent had become more reserved. He had stopped making too personal inquiries on Damen and had stopped giving out unsolicited information about himself; those days, their conversations mostly centered on business and the preparations for Auguste’s memorial. It should not have bothered Damen; this way, it would be easier for him to detach himself from his growing attraction towards Laurent. But not knowing what to suppose he could have done for Laurent to distance himself from Damen niggled at him.

He was trying to come up with a flippant way to broach the topic over breakfast when Laurent asked, eyes on his gazette, “Has Nikandros informed you when he will be arriving? I might be occupied within the week.”

“He should be here by noon tomorrow,” Damen replied, careful to tamp down the anticipation in his voice.

A contemplating look crossed Laurent’s face as he put down the paper on his lap. “I’m expected at the temple tomorrow, I’m afraid. You will have to welcome him on my behalf. I should be back for supper.”

Damen nodded, keeping his relief at bay to maintain a neutral facade. The setup would perfectly benefit him. He would have ample time to explain himself to Nikandros, who no doubt would assault him with a hundred questions, without running the risk of Laurent barging in as Laurent tended to do.

“In fact, you might be the more appropriate host for him,” Laurent added as he started eating. “I heard he’s quite the sportsman. You may show him around and spar if he’s inclined. I heard he is fond of women but that is a form of entertainment I cannot supply.”

“How much about him have you heard from your spies?” Damen asked offhandedly. That Nikandros was an athlete, like Damianos, was public knowledge. The other information, on the other hand, was not quite known in social circles. Nikandros was careful about his lovers, not because he had anything to be ashamed of but because he knew his relatives who goaded him into marriage would not approve of his choices. Nikandros preferred to take lovers among the common-born because he tired of the games nobility played. He was, as he often liked to tell Damen pointedly, not given to bedding snakes.

Laurent leaned back as he chewed a bite of toast. “I don’t send spies to my brother’s friends with malicious intent. I only send them to gather information. It is not their fault either if some staff are loose-mouthed after a drink or two.”

Intrigued, Damen asked, “How long have you been doing this?”

“Father helped the King’s spymaster, and Auguste was expected to do the same. But Auguste did not like idea. I’ve helped him since I was thirteen,” Laurent explained. “He still did not like it, but he admitted that it had its uses. I realized just how powerful a good spy network is when he died.”

“Thirteen,” Damen breathed. He couldn’t believe Auguste had allowed it to happen. But if it were a task ordered by the King, then even Auguste did not have the choice but to work as asked.

“I was young, yes, but spying is like solving a puzzle. Even before that, I started with letters that Father asked me to decipher.”

“Still, thirteen is too young to be burdened with secrets of the kingdom.”

“Auguste kept most of the information,” Laurent said, his voice going quiet. “He tried to shield me as much as he could. But I had to pick it up after him.”

The unfortunate reason sat on the silence in the air. Damen doubted that Auguste would have kept up with the spywork had he been alive, however. The task would inevitably have fallen into Laurent’s hands. He was tempted to ask if Laurent had ever sent spies to Ios but did not know how to voice the question without raising suspicion; they had only ever discussed Damianos as a friend of Auguste’s, and even then rarely. The mere idea of extensively talking about himself and pretending he did not know Damianos Akielon made Damen’s mind spin. So he pushed the thought aside and inquired if Laurent needed any more help for the memorial.

Damen spent the next morning poring over letters that required urgent attention as he waited for Nikandros’ retinue. He had delegated a lookout to inform him as soon as the flags bearing the Delphan crest could be spotted in town, and had sent Nicaise to the kitchens with the instruction that lunch would be set up in his chambers when the Earl arrived. The request probably earned raised brows but Damen wanted all the privacy with Nikandros that he could get.

As soon as the rider came back with the news of Nikandros’ arrival, Damen left his office and made for the front steps. A few of the staff who would be directly seeing to the Earl’s needs had already gathered by the front door, awaiting the guest. Otherwise, there was not much ceremony to this welcome.

He saw the familiar flags of Delpha as a carriage and two riders in Delpha’s purple and silver livery - one them nudging something in Damen’s memory - approach the manor. The riders swung themselves off their horses and one of Arles’ footmen opened the carriage door. 

Nikandros, tall and dignified, stepped out. Three years were not enough to cause dramatic change in him. He only seemed sturdier and older in a way that suited his age, but otherwise he looked the same quite unlike Damen who had exerted effort to blend in among the Northerners. Nikandros’ eyes fell on Damen and they widened, as if despite their recently renewed communication, Nikandros had not quite let himself believe that his friend was well and truly alive.

“Welcome to Arles, my lord,” Damen said, as he descended the last steps of the stairs, breaking the silence before it became too noticeable. “The Duke is indisposed at the moment, but he promises to join us for supper. It’s a little unorthodox but I had luncheon prepared in my rooms. We will have a lovely view.”

Nikandros, still staring at Damen, finally shrugged off the shock. “Well met, my lord,” offering a hand that Damen clasped.

“Well met.”

**to be continued~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Nikandros next chapter~ Comments are much appreciated! :)


	9. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there will be 17 chapters (by plotting anyway). If there will be changes it will probably be plus or minus one, will definitely not reach 20. So yeah that's why the number is there. It gives me a sense of direction. I'll go get to the comments for the last chapter in the meantime, but first I'd like to thank everyone. I was surprised by the number of comments I got for the last chapter. I still can't promise fast updates because term is starting again (and I managed to start a YOI fic why do I even do this) but I will not abandon this fic. :)
> 
> And here is a puzzle for Nik and Damen.

After introducing the staff to Nikandros, Damen led the Earl to a brief tour of the manor to give the servants enough time to prepare lunch. As they walked, they discussed trivial things about Nikandros’ travel, small details about the Veretian manor’s history, activities Nikandros could engage in during his brief visit. But they soon reached a lull, unable to keep up the pretense of being strangers when they had known each other nearly their entire lives. A glance at Nikandros told Damen that his friend was barely reining in all the questions he must have had since he received Damen’s first letter.

Shortly after Nikandros started showing signs of impatience, Nicaise found them at the hallway outside the library, and informed them that lunch was ready.

“You serve me my own wine?” Nikandros asked with some amusement as they occupied the table where Damen and Laurent usually took breakfast. It had been pushed close to the window so that they had a view of the East Gardens, which, at this time of the year, would have been completely bare if not for the rows of evergreen that lined either side of the garden. They had a good view of the large pond; the pavilion at its heart caught the eye, its brightly, intricately painted roof a stark contrast against the garden’s bleakness at winter.

“Would you have anything else?” Damen asked, before dismissing the servants that had set the table.

“If you had wine from Slev, then yes,” Nikandros replied. He noticeably followed the servants with his eyes, making sure that none of them had lingered before his tone changed as he added, “Three years. You’ve been hiding from us for three years.” He sounded understandably outraged and, to Damen’s guilty ears, betrayed. “We searched for you for months. You never thought to reach us?”

Between the two of them, Damen had always been the more optimistic, carefree and trusting one. Nikandros, while tolerating some of Damen’s poorer choices in life (trusting Kastor, for one; trying to bed any blonde he met, for another), had always been more cautious, always trying to make Damen see the dark side of a coin often with lengthy speeches that Damen generally took into consideration. Damen was therefore not surprised by the offended tone that Nikandros had taken and, quite truthfully, had expected more reprobation.

“I was not ready to tell anyone,” Damen said as Nikandros took a sip of Delphan wine.

“Not even me?” Nikandros asked after a moment. Again, the hint of betrayal was evident in his voice.

“I had wanted to tell you. But I did not have the means until now. I was only an assistant, and I did not have messengers at my disposal. _Until now._.” The extent of what Laurent had unwittingly provided him was slowly coming into picture, and it suddenly filled Damen with a sense of gratitude that he did not know how to address. “How was I supposed to send you a missive without gaining suspicion? I could not have gone to Delpha without being recognized.” Damen looked at the wine in his goblet and swirled it. “I did not know who to trust with a message to you.”

“The usual avenues -”

“I don’t know which ones sided with Kastor,” Damen said. He stared at his wine with the realization that he had, in fact, learned not to to trust everyone. He imagined that the ever so skeptic and suspicious Laurent would gloat at the thought.

Nikandros nodded in understanding. Damen could not be certain if he were fully forgiven but at least Nikandros seemed to acknowledge Damen’s reasons.

“What happened that night?” Nikandros demanded. “When Makedon and I reached the fort, it was littered with dead bodies, some of it - closer to your rooms - must have been your doing. But past the West Woods, there had been a fight. We couldn’t recognize the strokes used on the dead bodies. I thought our men fought with Kastor’s people but none of the dead seemed to have been a part of your guard at all. We assumed you’ve been abducted so we sent out search parties for months. We checked every cart that came and went from Ios, but there was no trace of you.”

Furrowing his brows, Damen listened intently to Nikandros’ retelling of the night that Damen had been trying and failing to completely recall for three years now. “I don’t remember much,” he admitted. He could see on Nikandros’ face the disappointment that he felt with himself. “There was a lot of them when I woke up. I fought them off. Though somebody must have hit me in the head because nothing felt clear afterwards. I ran through the tunnels but they were already waiting for me there. I don’t even know how I reached my horse, I just know I did.” Damen raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “It’s that part that I really can’t remember. There were more horses and more shouting, but I was too weak to stay conscious.”

“Then how did you escape?” Nikandros asked, baffled.

Damen shook his head. “I don’t know. Charls -”

“The cloth trader you work with?”

“Yes. He said he found me by a river north of the fort. But I don’t know how I got there. I just assumed my horse kept running and lost me somewhere along the river.”

“And then?”

“I woke up already bandaged. Charls said I was asleep for most of a week.”

Nikandros frowned at Damen. “Where could he have passed? I was at the fort at dawn and had sent out men to search almost immediately. I can’t imagine how he was able to evade all my men.”

Equally puzzled, Damen knitted his brows. “I don’t think I could have gotten that far on a horse unconscious,” he stated. “But Charls is not in a state fit for interrogation,” he added quietly. He cast his eyes at the window, thoughtful. “What was so noteworthy about the bodies?”

“A lot of the bodies in the West Woods were not killed by our men. But they weren’t our men. The strokes used were not the ones we favor, and the slices did not come from our swords.”

“The men who attacked me were trained with the Southern sword technique. They were easy to fight,” Damen said, glad to remember at least that much. His memories of that time when he had woken up from drunken slumber were vivid. His attackers wielded the sword in the way the Southerners favored, in the way Damen and Nikandros had been trained and had trained their soldiers in turn. Damen had, despite the overwhelming number of men, the upperhand - at least at first. “I would have remembered fighting someone with a different swordsmanship.” Like Laurent, he thought offhandedly.

Nikandros still looked bothered. “I always found it odd. We just assumed Kastor hired other people or let his men hire others for him. Maybe he had mercenaries from a different region. But it does not explain why the mercenaries would be killing men from their side.”

“Less people to share the reward, or orders from the top so that no one would live to tell the tale,” Damen supplied.

Taking a swig of wine, Nikandros nodded pensively. “They were sent to kill you, weren’t they?”

“They certainly tried,” Damen said grimly.

“How did you realize it was Kastor’s doing?” Nikandros asked.

Damen’s grip on his goblet tightened. “The tunnels.” The thought, when it came to him the night he woke up in one of Charls’ shops in the South, had been a bitter pill to swallow; he had, despite all of Nikandros’ warnings, believed the best of his brother. When he turned over in his head what happened the night he almost lost his life, he realized that very few people knew about the secret tunnels that led out of his rooms: his parents who both had passed, himself, Kastor, Nikandros and Makedon. And yet, his attackers had trapped him and nearly overpowered him in one of the branches of the tunnel. Neither Nikandros nor Makedon would betray him. That left only Kastor. “They knew their way around. They trapped me there.”

He almost expected Nikandros to say “I told you so.” But unlike Laurent who would probably thoroughly rub the injury of Kastor’s deception with his flawless logic and indiscriminate cynicism, Nikandros would not blame Damen. But Damen wondered if Kastor were the only one to blame or if he had the aid of someone with a devious mind. He had suspected, given the timing of the attack and Jokaste’s short period of recovery from a supposed lover’s death. But he had no way of knowing for certain if she had been behind the threat to his life as well. Nikandros, who had always been wary of Jokaste, probably felt the same. “Tell me what happened, after.”

Nikandros drained his wine and grimaced as if the question pained him. “How much do you know?”

“You mourned for three months, then Kastor took my title for himself. And Jokaste as his wife.”

Nodding, confirming what Damen knew, Nikandros poured more wine into his goblet. “We really tried to find you.” Damen heard the muted confusion in Nikandros’ tone. Even Damen wondered how a mere cloth trader could have gotten past at least half of the South’s guards, and the thought probably insulted Nikandros’ pride. They were the same in this: both excellent in military work and tactics, and admitted to being a bit vain of the fact. “Three months later, Kastor called for a halt. I’m sure he just pretended to send his men or that his men did not try so hard. He said that you would have shown up if you were still alive. A lot of the lords listened to him because he was right. It’s not like you to stay in hiding.”

“It’s not like me to be overpowered in combat either,” Damen reminded with a bit of bitterness. “And I wanted to wait for the right time.”

Nikandros exhaled loudly. “Kastor declared three months of mourning, all the while appealing to the Court to be made Duke despite his illegitimacy. The Court agreed because nothing in the books expressly forbade it, and he was acknowledged by your father as son.”

“The Court immediately agreed?”

“Most, but _your husband_ argued at length about it. Citing lines upon lines of the Court Rules, and that Kastor could only be assigned heir if there were a lack of legitimate relatives. But then your cousins were underage, and Laurent was cold, spiteful and only eighteen so no one listened to him.”

“Laurent defended my title?” Damen asked in a low voice. He turned the thought over and over in his head, not knowing what to make of the revelation.

Nikandros arched a brow. “He did marry you.”

“He doesn’t know who I am except that I want to fight for my inheritance.”

“I had assumed that you’ve met before.”

“Probably. But I do not remember. We were probably children then. I doubt he would know me as I am now.”

“And if he had been older when you last met, you would have remembered him well.”

Recognizing the teasing tone in Nikandros’ voice, Damen narrowed his eyes at his friend. “It’s not like that.”

Nikandros raised both eyebrows in disbelief. “I’ve seen him recently, Damen. He’s blond, he has blue eyes, he has a sharp mind.” He turned his goblet by the stem and peered at Damen with a grin. “Half the Court wants him.”

“Half the Court also wants to cut off his tongue.”

Throwing his head back in laughter, Nikandros asked, “Which is it for you then?”

“He is Auguste’s brother.”

“So? I doubt Auguste would have had any misgiving towards the match. He had always been protective of his smart bookish little brother. There are very few people in the world with whom he’d trust Laurent, and your name would likely sit at the top of the list.”

Damen blinked. It was a thought he had not allowed himself to consider and refused to consider even then. “Even so,” he said, hoping he sounded flippant about it, “Laurent is not one for lovers.”

“You already asked?” There was a mischievous light in Nikandros’ eyes.

“No. He volunteered the information.” Damen said, setting his wine pointedly on the table. “The food is getting cold. There is time to discuss things later.”

The food had gone cold, but it was still quite good if simply for the fact that Laurent’s Cook never served anything short of perfection. Even Nikandros who preferred the South’s simpler, more herbal flavors seemed delighted by the richness of the dishes served for lunch.

In the afternoon, after Nikandros had rested in his rooms, Damen invited him to spar in Laurent’s private arena. Exhilarated by the fact that he could finally fight someone his match other than Laurent, Damen put himself into the swordplay, using some tricks he had mastered from sparring with the Northerners.

“I can’t believe you’ve gotten even better,” Nikandros panted after yielding. He grabbed Damen’s offered hand and heaved himself from the dust with Damen’s help.

“I was in bad shape when I first came here. But Laurent keeps himself and his guard trained.”

“Is he any good? Laurent?” Nikandros asked, brushing dust off his shirt. They both preferred to spar shirtless, but Nikandros, unaccustomed to the climate in the North, had chosen to wear an old shirt.

“Not Auguste,” Damen replied, knowing Nikandros would understand what that meant. Auguste had been a force of nature with a sword, defeated only by Damen sometimes. “But he is good. In his own way.”

Damen was slipping on a shirt when the door opened, revealing Laurent. Damen had a glimpse of Jord and Orlant stationing themselves by the door behind Laurent. “I was told I might find you here,” Laurent said, his cool gaze noticeably drifted on Damen for a moment before settling on Nikandros. “Forgive me for my absence this morning,” he said, sounding far from apologetic. “I hope my husband has kept you entertained?”

“He has,” Nikandros said, sheathing his sword as he spoke. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“I should have done it in the previous years but I did not think you would want to make a trip North this late in the fall. It’s almost winter.”

“Ah, yes. But in honor of Auguste, I would have.”

“Thank you. I will bear that in mind,” Laurent said succinctly. “It must be doubly sorrowful for you now that you have to honor another friend’s memory like this.”

At a sudden loss, Nikandros inclined his head inquiringly.

“I meant Damianos,” Laurent stated.

New to the habit of lying, Nikandros stared wild-eyed at Laurent for a few seconds. “I - yes. It is.” Even to Damen’s ears, Nikandros hardly sounded convincing.

Laurent nodded curtly, his eyes blank as usual. “Will you be joining us for supper?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I hope you do not bore of my husband’s company. I have a few things to see to before supper so I please excuse me.” Laurent did not wait for a response before sweeping out of the arena as quickly as he had come, leaving Nikandros to gape after him. Once the doors had closed, Nikandros visibly shook his head and turned to Damen.

“I do not understand how you can stand him,” Nikandros said. “Then again I will never understand how you could stand Jokaste either.”

“You get used to it,” Damen said.

“I suppose. But I’d say you enjoy it.”

Supper was a subdued, informal affair of eight courses served in, thankfully, larger portions than typically seen in a Northern table. Laurent was not his usual abrasive self, had probably taken into consideration that Nikandros was a friend Auguste had trusted, and Laurent had therefore decided to give his grudging trust as well. Damen wondered if he would have been extended this rare, nearly benevolent welcome as well if he had come to Arles as Damianos Akielon.

They discussed news from the South, the produce, the friendlier weather, and the Lords that wanted Kastor unseated. Laurent who seldom showed interest in anything beyond books and horses, sounded invested in the state of the Southern politics - of Ios’, in particular. “Is there a cousin that is of age?” Laurent asked, though Damen thought that Laurent very likely knew the answer to that question already.

“There is one. Through Theomedes’ cousin,” Nikandros replied. “But her bid is not popular.”

“Kastor’s influence in the South is ridiculous, considering he is a bastard.”

Damen winced at the scornful label. He had loved his brother, once, and had never allowed anyone to demean Kastor. “I heard his mother was loved by the Duke.”

Laurent turned to Damen with probing eyes. “Not enough to marry her after Egeria had died,” he quipped.

“If he had married her, Kastor would have been legitimized,” Nikandros said. “He would have gained the title upon Theomedes’ death. Theomedes wanted to prevent that. Damianos had been groomed for the title since birth. The title is rightfully his.”

“For good reason,” Laurent concurred so readily that it surprised Damen. “But, legitimate or not, Kastor found a way to get his hands on the title.”

“You suspect him?” Nikandros asked.

“You do not?” Laurent challenged.

“I do. I always have. But it is an unpopular theory in the South.”

“Only because Kastor has bribed and blackmailed his way to the favor of the Southern Lords. Did you always distrust Kastor?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you never told Damianos?”

“I did tell him. But he never listened.”

Damen tried not to squirm in his seat. He felt like an eavesdropper on a conversation about himself, and he could tell that Nikandros was enjoying himself.

“Damianos was a lot like Auguste. They thought that everyone lives up to the same code of honor that they did.”

Looking up from his steak, Damen studied Laurent. Holding someone in the same light as Auguste was probably the highest form of appraisal Laurent would ever give anyone, even if Laurent deemed trustfulness a naive and dangerous trait. Damen wondered how much Auguste had spoken about him to Laurent, and if Laurent had always held Damianos Akielon in high esteem.

“You disagree.”

“Of course. It has its merits. But to them, it showed its rocky, jagged pitfalls.” But Laurent being Laurent, he did not explain further and simply moved on to criticize the Southern Lords and their hypocritical sense of honor.

Only after supper, over nightcap with Nikandros did Damen fully disclose what Laurent had vaguely implied about the circumstances surrounding Auguste’s death. Nikandros looked like he did not know how to react. He simply emptied his goblet wine, poured himself another and drained it again.

“Does Laurent have evidence?” Nikandros asked.

“Laurent is trying to get his hands on some,” Damen replied.

“This is a terrible tangle you’ve gotten yourself into,” Nikandros remarked, as if Damen needed telling. That had been on his mind since he found out the real cause of Auguste’s death. “What do you intend to do then? Help him first and then enlist his help later?”

“Something like that,” Damen said, taking a sip of wine. “In the meantime, I want you to deal with Makedon and gather as many men as you can.” Damen doubted Kastor would step aside and give him the title without a fight, and he did not have enough evidence to implicate Kastor to ensure that Kastor would not have any chance to make trouble. 

He had always known that he would need a small army to get back his title. He knew he had Arles’ men for that purpose. He would also need Laurent’s aid to root out which Southern Lords would support Kastor, and which ones would come to his side. He felt glad, at least, that he had made friends out of some of the Northern Lords at Laurent’s behest. Hopefully, with a little persuasion, they would also lend their hands.

***

A few more guests arrived in the two days that led up to Auguste’s memorial, among them was Vannes who had been one of Auguste’s and now Laurent’s most vocal allies. The others were mostly Laurent’s distant relatives whom Damen had seen on his wedding day. Thus, in the next two days, Damen’s time had been occupied with providing some form of entertainment to the guests. But this time, it had not involved riding through the woods or hunting; the weather simply was too cold, and the mere idea of a hunt would have been a mockery to Auguste’s death. It would have been precarious for Damen too if the last hunt were anything to judge by, and Damen liked the idea of keeping his life.

Damen was decidedly grateful to have Nikandros beside him those days. The Northerners engaged in talk loaded with subtle insults and false pleasantries that Damen had a hard time believing anyone. The only one he genuinely liked was Vannes, who had a strange, twisted sense of humor a bit more ribald than Laurent’s. Nikandros, with his forthright ways, was a breath of fresh air in the sea of hidden agendas and was a reminder to Damen of what he had been missing since he had come to the North three years back.

The repulsion that Damen had felt about the duplicity of the guests, however, was nothing compared to the sheer repugnance he felt as he stood among the crowd in the crypts below the Veretian manor on the day of Auguste’s memorial. The priestess from the temple had finished reading her prayer and giving a lecture on the journey in the afterlife, and had asked the members of Auguste’s family to speak a few words in Auguste’s honor. The Earl of Chastillion had stepped up first in response, and a side-glance at Nikandros’ face showed Damen a revulsion that reflected exactly what Damen felt.

As the Earl of Chastillion spoke in his usual, low, authoritative voice, Damen cast his gaze on Laurent who stood to his right, a yard behind his uncle. That Laurent’s face betrayed no sign of emotion and that Laurent’s posture remained undisturbed was a testament to the control he had learned to steel himself with over the years. The idea that Laurent had dealt with five years of this, five years of false concern and false lamentation from the Earl of Chastillion made Damen’s gut twist with disgust so heavy and bitter that he could taste it at the back of his throat.

Laurent spoke after his Uncle in possibly the most sincere words he had ever expressed, all the while showing no trace of the grief that, Damen surmised, he must be feeling. Damen wanted to speak up too, but knew it was not his place, not being Damianos Akielon at least to everyone else’s knowledge. He resigned himself to recalling the brilliant moments he had with Auguste, how Auguste held the sword, how Auguste believed in altruistic leadership, and how Auguste spoke of his wonderful little brother.

While Laurent closed his speech with “Auguste was a golden star fallen before his time to shine, but I hope he continues to light our hearts,” Damen agreed wholeheartedly. Briefly, he wondered if memorials were ever held for him as well, and then realized that even if they were, they would have been led by Kastor who had neither sincerity nor eloquence to honor him the way Laurent did Auguste.

After Laurent stepped back, the priestess sprinkled fragrant oil on Auguste’s tomb that had been adorned with white and gold stargazers, and said a final blessing which everyone took as the signal to go back to the manor where refreshments would be served.

Damen watched from the back of the straggling crowd as the Earl of Chastillion thanked the guests, steering them away and towards the stairs that led to one of the gardens in the estate. Nikandros stepped beside Damen, waiting, obviously as disinclined to deal with Laurent’s Uncle as Damen was.

“Go ahead,” Damen said.

Nikandros turned to him quickly and raised a brow. The look that Nikandros gave Damen was one of scrutiny. And then it changed into a look of understanding as his eyes shot past Damen, to the direction of Auguste’s tomb where, Damen was keenly aware, Laurent stood.

Laurent, Damen had realized early into the ceremony, had not allowed himself to deal with this memorial with the proper emotions that usually came with one: a mixture of grief, longing and acceptance. Laurent had treated it as if it were simply another chore that required his undivided, efficient, scrupulous attention. Damen now knew why Laurent stayed vigil after the memorial; Laurent did not want to bare all his emotions for everyone to see. He wanted to do it in the privacy that he would be given after he had completed the tasks required of him.

Damen wanted to see if he would be welcome to share in that privacy, like how he was sometimes welcome, invited even, into the small details of Laurent’s life.

“You’re sending me off to a den of snakes,” Nikandros murmured lightly. But his eyes on Damen were heavy and questioning, asking Damen if he were sure of what he intended to do.

Damen was, in fact, not sure that he would be welcome because being welcoming was not one of Laurent’s attributes. But Damen had the urge to try, driven by the knowledge of how much Laurent and Auguste had adored each other, driven also by the growing latent albeit unwanted affection he had for Laurent. “You can talk to Vannes or Talik,” Damen replied casually. “They wouldn’t eat you alive.”

Nikandros pressed his lips, but did not seem to have any outright objection to what Damen was about to do. “See you later,” he said before climbing up the stairs, his eyes promising Damen an earful of talk.

As Nikandros' steps echoed in the crypts, Damen turned on his heels and walked back towards Laurent who now knelt by the marble tomb, reaching for the pots of flowers and rearranging them. It was an action that was rare in its unnecessity; the floral arrangement was perfectly attractive and Laurent could send for his servants to reorganize the flowers later. But Damen felt that the action was done out of the compulsion that stemmed from the desire to ignore and silence a mind that was too noisy.

“You don’t have to stay,” Laurent said, patting the petals of one stargazer that did not seem to need fixing.

Damen had known that Laurent’s first instinct would be to resist, but there had been no bite in Laurent’s voice, so Damen pressed on, “Do you want me to leave?”

The silence, in the echoing walls of the crypt, was loud and long. Laurent had neither stood up nor looked at Damen. He stared at one flower as he considered the suggestion, probably dissecting it in his head in the hopes of finding Damen’s motives at the core.

“I don’t -” Damen sighed. “I just thought you might want a -”

“A what?”

“A friend.” It was the first thing that came to mind. It was true, but there was another truth of what he wanted for himself and Laurent that he was not yet prepared to examine closely. Being friends was not unfavorable, and for them it did not seem unnatural considering how much time they spent with each other, with Laurent never attempting to tear Damen apart with words.

Laurent finally rose in one graceful motion, and Damen found himself face-to-face with Laurent. “Are we friends, Damen?”

Damen suddenly felt aware of icy blue eyes scrutinizing him. But he was used to Laurent’s intimidating attention by now that he was able to stand his ground. He crossed his arms over his chest, not stepping back even with less than half a foot between their faces. “Are we, Laurent? You are the one who is not predisposed to friendship. You decide.”

Laurent’s eyes flickered from Damen’s eyes to Damen’s lips and swept back up again. Damen tried not to inhale or swallow. Laurent’s golden lashes were long and thick, and his hair smelled like lavender. “I can hardly believe you want to be friends with me. I’m dishonest, distrusting - ”

“Laurent, you can just say no and I’d leave you to yourself.”

“I just don’t understand what benefit it gives you -”

“Friendship is not established upon benefits.”

“What, then, is it established upon?”

Damen frowned. He should have realized that Laurent would make a complication out of his easy, unassuming offer. “Mutual trust,” he said, and Laurent’s eyes widened in surprise.

Laurent’s eyes softened in a way that Damen had not seen before, and Damen wondered how many more of these small unguarded moments he would be allowed to witness or if he were even allowed them. “You may stay,” he said, setting himself on a raised platform across Auguste’s tomb.

“What were you planning to do?” Damen inquired as he sat down next to Laurent, his eyes directly at the same level as the stargazers on one side of Auguste’s tomb.

Slipping a hand into his jacket, Laurent procured a small, well-worn book. “Read,” Laurent said, cupping the book in his hands. His cheeks had a spattering of pink as he added, “Auguste often liked to make me read aloud. This was one of his favorites. But, really, I think he used to ask me so he could fall asleep quickly.”

“Go on then,” Damen said. He crossed his legs in front of him just so he did not have to fold them too close to his chest. “It’s been a tiring day,” he added, leaning his head against the wall behind them.

“Eager to sleep, aren’t you?” Laurent remarked, his tone was light, almost playful. He opened the book and started reading.

Laurent’s voice, low, clear and calm, was suited for reading aloud. Laurent took his time, savoring the words, adding inflections where needed. He sounded more animated reading a book than every other time he spoke except for the times he spoke about Auguste, and Damen felt glad that for all that had been taken away from Laurent, this had remained. Briefly, Damen contemplated what would have happened had Auguste been alive and Laurent had remained comfortably seated as the second son. Laurent would probably have ventured into more scholarly pursuits as he helped his brother with the spy network. He would have been content to stay in his office, reading reports and literature, writing letters and translating books.

“Dreaming already?”

Damen opened his eyes.

“You were smiling,” Laurent stated. His eyes lingered on Damen as he said, “Go and join the guests before you fall asleep. Save the Earl of Delpha from misery.”

“You’ll be staying?”

“Yes.”

Damen regarded Laurent for a few moments, trying to decide whether he should push his luck further and stay, or to leave Laurent in the silence and privacy of the crypts. Concluding that he had imposed his presence enough on Laurent, who, remarkably, had allowed him to, Damen got to his feet. “I’ll see you at supper," he said before striding to the stairs.

**to be continued~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn't find them terribly OOC here. I just thought they don't really have any reason to be hostile towards each other. Besides, Laurent is between the what-could-have-been and the canon state so I made him a bit more friendly.


	10. Small Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while. Been busy the past couple of months because school just started again. But here it is~ Hopefully the length makes up for the delay. The later parts are unbeta'd but will probably check again later. Will try to reply to comments (of the previous chapters omg) ASAP. :)

Winters in the North, most especially in Arles, were tortuous. Snow piled up quickly, and the cold wind burned against skin. Damen particularly dreaded his regular runs to the shop (now reduced from daily to twice a week) that required riding in the snow. He had used to spend winters at one of Charls’ shops in Toutaine, which, while still colder than Ios, was marginally warmer than Arles. Now that he was married to Laurent, he had no choice but to stay in Arles, at the Veretian manor which was at the _northernmost tip_ of Arles.

The cold made him worry about Charls’ health as well. Although Laurent’s staff saw to Charls’ every need and made sure to keep Charls’ fire was fresh and high, Charls looked paler and gaunter than ever. Even Paschal could not hide his concern every time Damen inquired after Charls’ health.

The days Damen was not expected at the shop, he spent either working in the warmth of his office or exerting himself in Laurent’s private arena. He typically performed drills, swinging his word in long-practiced motions till his muscles throbbed and his sweat trickled. Orlant and Jord still joined him in the mornings but were occupied the rest of the day. A few times, when he was alone in the arena, Damen considered that he should have invited Nikandros to stay longer, but he doubted that Nikandros’ loyalty to him extended to suffering the Northern winter with him. Laurent, when he was not too busy reading novels or writing letters by the fire, sometimes joined Damen too.

However, although Laurent was Damen’s most challenging partner for sword practice in Arles, he was also by far the most distracting. More than once, Damen had caught himself watching the way Laurent stretched his neck before sparring, and Damen often wondered what it would feel like to trace Laurent’s pulse with his lips. When Laurent took gulps of water after a bout, Damen found himself staring with particular attention to Laurent’s full, glistening lips. If Laurent noticed, he showed no indication of it. He merely went about his business, matter of fact and curt as usual.

Damen knew that distancing himself from Laurent would benefit him greatly, but being confined in the Veretian manor inevitably meant being confined in it with Laurent. And Damen had offered Laurent friendship. He would be remiss to rescind it for his own comfort and more than friendly sentiments. Laurent, for his part, seemed to have taken Damen at his word. He was companionable again, suggesting books that he thought would help Damen break the tedium of the indoors, and inviting Damen to a game of chess when even he did not feel like reading.

Chess was a game of the mind, which, while Damen did not lack, Laurent had in abundance. Damen had never won a game against Laurent; Laurent was relentless and would never condescend to allowing Damen to win. Despite always losing, Damen played because of the way Laurent’s blue eyes gleamed in concentration as he sat back in his armchair, head propped at the back of one hand, watching the glass pieces on the glass board that doubled as a table. Besides, even though Damen did not win, he was enough of a challenge that he could drag the game and make Laurent wrinkle his brows once or twice. After each satisfying win, Laurent’s eyes shone brightly, not unlike the way they danced after Laurent had long, speedy rides in the mornings.

“You’re strangely happy for a loser,” Laurent remarked, leaning back into his chair, stretching one long leg under the table.

“I’d be quite dispirited if I took each loss to heart,” Damen said, reaching out to finish his tea. They had been building this routine after supper lately, reading or playing in the receiving room of Laurent’s chambers well into the night.

“We can play something that you think you’ll win.” Laurent’s lips curled at one corner in a taunting grin.

Damen did not think there was any game that involved tactics that he would win against Laurent. “You’d probably find wrestling too undignified.”

“Wrestling,” Laurent stated. A look of wonder flickered across his face. 

Damen toyed with the idea further. He pictured Laurent - who preferred a wide berth to himself and made as little contact with people as possible - tangled limb to limb with him, struggling out of an arm lock and flushed from exertion, blonde hair darkening with sweat. The image, however, stirred a warmth in Damen’s gut that did not come from the exhilaration brought by the thrill of competition. Damen cleared his throat. “I don’t imagine you’d enjoy it.”

“Auguste enjoyed it,” Laurent said. “He taught me a bit. But at thirteen, I could hardly be a match to him. He was used to wrestling the likes of Damianos Akielon, I probably felt weightless to him.”

Feeling a surge of guilt, Damen fell silent at the mention of his name. He remembered his promise to Nikandros to reveal his identity to Laurent soon. But he had not yet come up with the best way to tell Laurent. He passed a hand across his face and started rubbing his temples. He had used to be honest and straightforward. He could tell Laurent the truth if he really wanted to. But he knew why he hesitated: he did not want to disrupt the comfortable rhythm of companionship that he had established with Laurent. 

Nikandros, of course, had seen through Damen’s excuse of wanting to bide his time. Before leaving for Delpha, he had assured Damen that he did not believe that the truth would drastically change Laurent’s regard towards Damen. He pointed out that the Laurent around Damen was not the same Laurent everyone else saw. There was more wry humor when Laurent spoke with Damen than the actual hostility Laurent applied to everyone else. Knowing Damen’s identity as one of Auguste’s closest friends, Nikandros had said, could only improve instead of break Laurent’s trust in Damen.

While Damen did not think Nikandros was wrong, he believed that change was unavoidable. The truth would make Laurent an ally instead of a friend, less free with unsolicited information about himself and with anecdotes about him and Auguste. Selfishly, Damen wanted Laurent as both: a brother in arms and a friend of sorts.

“The round can’t have been _that_ difficult to give you a headache,” Laurent said.

“What?” Damen asked, before realizing that he had been holding his head all along. He grinned lazily. “You won because I had a handicap.”

Laurent raised a brow. “I suppose you’ve had a headache all winter. Go and see if Paschal has something for it so that you might actually win a match.” He let out a small, almost indistinct chuckle at his own joke, the sound soft and private. Smiling to himself, he leaned forward and started arranging the pieces on the board.

Damen sat, amazed. He had seen Laurent smile and had heard Laurent laugh before. But each laughter and smile felt new to Damen, as if each were a brick being pulled out of Laurent’s thick, high walls, allowing Damen yet another peek at what laid hidden behind those walls. After a moment, Damen shut his eyes and took a long, deep breath. The intensity of what he wanted gripped his chest. All he could do to stop himself from reaching out and tracing the curve of Laurent’s smile with his thumb was stand so quickly that he felt dizzy.

Following Damen’s motion with his eyes, Laurent looked up. “Shall I ring for Paschal?”

“No,” Damen said firmly. “This is nothing sleep cannot fix.”

Laurent studied Damen, and then, “Very well. See you in the morning.”

“Yes. See you.”

Instead of heading to bed, however, Damen took his sword from his rooms and walked to Laurent’s private arena to clear his head. He lit the torches, placed himself near the center and launched into drills. He knew he needed to reach a resolution regarding Laurent soon. He needed to decide whether to keep distance and tamp down his feelings or to pursue Laurent like he would any other potential lover. But Laurent was not like any other would-be lover, and was, in fact, not like most people. Laurent had never been known to accept suitors; those who had shown interest were turned away, made painfully conscious of their shortcomings by none other than Laurent. Plus, Laurent himself had stated that the idea of sharing a bed with another had not been appealing to him. Courting Laurent might not be fruitful, and Damen could end up causing a rift between them - a price he could not afford if he wanted regain his title with Laurent’s help.

But Damen wanted. He wanted to know how smoothly Laurent’s hair would slip through his fingers at night, and how sweetly Laurent’s usually arrogantly pressed lips would taste against his. He also wanted Laurent’s brilliant mind, normally ringing with a hundred thousand thoughts, to be filled with thoughts of him. He wanted to see more of Laurent’s private smiles and laughters and wanted to be their cause.

He left the arena way past midnight with the resolve to first tell Laurent the truth, and only after then would he allow himself to try for Laurent’s hand.

Having exhausted himself the night before, Damen woke up with a grumbling stomach at nearly noon the next day. He dragged himself off bed, pulled on pants and summoned his valet, inquiring if Laurent had been in his rooms for the usual breakfast.

“His Grace dropped by but told me not to rouse you, my lord. However, he said that he would have lunch served in his office and you may join him if you please.”

Damen nodded and proceeded to getting himself washed and dressed before joining Laurent.

Laurent’s office was warm and bright with the well-maintained fire upon which a fragrant tea was brewing on a kettle. Laurent himself sat behind his desk, his quill lightly scratching parchment as he wrote a letter. He looked up briefly when the door opened and offered a tight-lipped smile before dragging his eyes back to the parchment in front of him.

“You could have woken me up for breakfast,” Damen said, striding towards and settling in an armchair near the fire. 

“I thought you needed the rest. Paschal suggested that tea for your headache. He’s afraid you might come down with the winter fever,” Laurent said without lifting his head. “Ring for lunch now if you’re hungry.”

Damen stared at Laurent, a comfortable warmth taking up space in his chest. Laurent liked to detach himself from people, his concern rarely shown and even more hardly spoken. Thinking back, however, Damen realized that Laurent had displayed concern towards him quite a few times before. And now, this, where Laurent had fretted in his own quiet way about a headache Damen did not have, where Laurent cared enough to have asked his physician about it. Damen allowed himself to relish the idea that his suit might not be immediately rejected after all. 

The silence seemed to have taken Laurent’s attention. “Not hungry?” Laurent asked, raising his head a little.

“I am,” Damen said quickly, before pulling a bell to call on a servant.

Laurent sealed his letter just as lunch was being set on the table. Lazar, who normally served as dispatch for Laurent’s more important and private communications, was the one entrusted with the letter.

“You know where to find him,” Laurent said, after handing the envelope to Lazar. “Be discreet.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lazar replied. He bowed and left Laurent’s office.

Damen, who had been watching the exchange, furrowed his brows as Laurent joined him at table. Laurent had the look of one who had achieved what he had set out to do for the day and more, his blue eyes were bright and his posture relaxed. “You seem satisfied,” Damen remarked as he cut his knife into the lamb chop.

Laurent took a bite of potato and chewed carefully before answering, “Huet has found Govart again and suspects something that might be Govart’s hold on my Uncle.”

“Are you having Huet take it?”

“No,” Laurent said quickly. “He’s too important a spy to risk exposure.”

“Then what do you intend to do?”

In typical Laurent fashion, however, Laurent brushed off the question, saying, “You need not concern yourself with it. Is your headache any better?”

Had Damen known Laurent less, he would have been affronted with how little Laurent trusted him. But Laurent preferred to go by his own unpredictable pace. He would tell Damen if and when he saw fit.

***

The steady decline of Charls’ health as winter deepened put all thoughts of Laurent’s schemes out of Damen’s mind. Charls had gotten a bout of lung infection that Paschal had been dreading since winter began. According to Paschal, all he could do was to try to mitigate the symptoms as best he could. Damen had long resigned himself that he would soon be losing Charls, and Charls as well seemed to accept his fate. All Damen could do was ensure that Charls’ business would be handed over to those who deserved it. Seeing as how Charls’ business had grown, it was a pity that Charls did not have his own children to bequeath the business to.

As Charls’ staff took turns visiting their employer, Damen filled in the work they emptied in the shop, often going back late to the manor, and, when snow fell, stayed back at the merchant house. He had chanced going home one night after taking supper with some of the staff at Charls’ shop and had taken one of the more direct routes through the forest when he thought he heard the sound of hooves coming from the direction of the manor. He stopped his horse, and, switching his lamp to his left hand that also held the reins, he dropped his right hand to the hilt of the dagger tied to his waist.

The sound of hooves approached fast, and, from the distance, Damen recognized the horse - tall and elegant. The rider wore a dark, hooded fur cloak and carried a small lamp, but there was no mistaking the horse. Relaxing, Damen directed his horse onto the incoming rider’s path.

He heard a low hiss as Laurent - for it could only be Laurent - reared his horse in front of Damen. The cloak slid off Laurent’s head and revealed Laurent watching Damen exasperatedly.

“Where are you going?” Damen demanded.

“Nowhere that concerns you.”

“Laurent.”

Laurent pressed his lips and stared at Damen, his eyes glinting impatiently. Damen waited.

“I have a rendezvous with someone who will help me steal from Govart. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to reach the place before daybreak.”

“Alone?” Damen asked, not moving his horse. “And if you got discovered?”

“I am quite capable of defending myself,” Laurent said resolutely.

And he was right, Damen conceded. Laurent was a skilled swordsman and was sly enough to wriggle his way out of anything. But Damen had not yet seen this Govart and was not sure how much danger he was to Laurent. “I’m going with you.”

“That’s not necessary -”

“Do you not realize how dangerous it is if you’re found out? Spring is coming, Laurent, and your Uncle will go through all means to get to you before you take the title. You shouldn’t even be going on excursions like this. I’m going with you or you are not going anywhere.”

“How are you going to stop me?”

“I am not above hauling you bodily off to your rooms if it keeps you safe.”

“My safety is not-”

“It is my concern,” Damen said so firmly that the vehemence in his own voice startled him. It seemed to surprise Laurent too who looked at him with wide, blue eyes. “There would be no point in chasing off your Uncle or hunting evidence to prove his guilt if you are going to die anyway.”

Laurent turned to fix his eyes elsewhere, his face drawn inward with deliberation. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s go back to the manor. I will need something if there will be two of us doing business with my contact.”

Damen narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not planning on running away. We need disguises.”

“Disguises,” Damen repeated, his mind going back to the time Laurent had played his meek assistant. Laurent, it seemed, had the penchant for role-play.

“Move,” Laurent ordered. “I have been delayed enough.”

They arranged to meet at the stables later that night after instructions from Laurent to bring respectable clothing. Laurent was fitting his horse with packed saddlebags when Damen reached the stables. Damen followed to do the same and, at Laurent’s cue, he led his horse out of its cubicle and swung himself to his horse’s back.

They thundered on despite the cold. The night wind bit against the little skin between Damen’s forehead and mouth that he had left uncovered. A side-glance to Laurent showed that the cold did not seem to bother Laurent the same way. All Laurent seemed to want was to get to wherever they were headed. Damen shared this sentiment if only for the promise of a fire and a bed soon.

Their destination, it turned out, was a town in Varenne. Before entering the town, Laurent halted them at the fringe of the woods they had passed through. He slipped his hand into his cloak and tossed a well-filled coin purse to Damen. “You are to present me as your wife when we get to the inn.”

Damen blinked. “My wife.” When he turned, Laurent was clipping onto his ears tear-drop sapphire earrings that glinted under the lamplight. As Damen watched, speechless, Laurent pushed back his hood and tugged at his hair so that his braids came looser. Laurent pulled out tendrils of wavy hair to frame his face so that it cast a gentler effect against his jaws. The transformation made Damen want to hold on to something for support. He had always thought Laurent beautiful in an androgynous way, but never had he considered he would witness Laurent actively play a woman. The idea - and now, the experience - was simply bizarre and it was breaking something in Damen.

“Ready?” Laurent’s voice was clear and deep.

Damen released a deep breath and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

They stopped their horses in front of an inn, handing their reins to a stable boy who had come down to meet them. Damen tried not to appear affected when Laurent looped an arm around his rather possessively.

“Good morning, sir, ma’am,” the barkeep, a tall, portly middle-aged man, said. He had an open, welcoming smile, despite being up at an ungodly hour. “Would you like a room?”

“Yes,” Damen said, acutely aware of Laurent pressed to his side. “A room and a bath for two, as well as a meal for my wife and I. And privacy. Plenty of it.”

“Newlyweds, eh?” The innkeeper eyed Laurent appraisingly, making Damen frown.

Damen deposited Laurent to a table near the fire while he discussed the arrangement with the innkeeper. They were served tea as maids ran up to prepare their assigned room. Laurent, perhaps to save himself from having to speak with a feminine voice, was oddly quiet. He simply assessed his surroundings and watched calmly as two drunk men a few tables away enthusiastically exchanged saliva. Having lived in the North for three years now, Damen knew that the Northerners were not at all discreet about affairs that Southerners preferred confined in the bedrooms. Even the abstemious Laurent would have had run-ins with servants or guards in the coital act. Damen wondered what Laurent thought and felt about it. Watching Laurent now, he could not see any hint of emotion in Laurent’s eyes, but he knew that Laurent’s face could be devoid of emotion while his head swam in thoughts.

They were led to a room at the far end of the hall at the top storey. It had a single bed large enough for three and was adjoined by a bathroom. The furnishings were meager but at least the linens smelled fresh, and the room was warm with the freshly stoked fire.

“Go bathe first. You seem to need the warm water more,” Laurent said.

Damen did not let the offer pass and bathed quickly enough that the water he had left for Laurent should still be comfortably warm. He pulled on a pair of pants for his own sensibilities before climbing into bed while Laurent bathed.

Laurent, mercifully, had donned on a long shirt before emerging from the bathroom. The candle in his hand made his face and his gilt hair glow. As he approached the bed, Damen could not help staring at Laurent’s long pale legs that the shirt was not able to cover. They were ivory except in parts where Laurent had scrubbed hard, and they were well-toned from Laurent’s love for riding. Damen had seen them before, but not often enough that this time brought new sensations, especially now that he had acknowledged how much he wanted Laurent.

Laurent blew off the candle flame, set the candelabra on a drawer beside the bed, and made to crawl into bed with Damen. Damen tried to control his own breathing, reminding himself that he was the one who had been adamant about sharing a bed with Laurent once.

Damen pressed his back further against the wall, determined not to touch Laurent for the sake of his sanity and for the safety of his limbs. He was facing Laurent who similarly lay on his side, head propped on a hand, damp hair slightly mussed. Damen resolved to look at Laurent’s face only; he did not want to know how much further Laurent’s shirt had ridden up.

“I’m surprised you’re not asking what we’re doing here,” Laurent remarked, voice low and calm. Damen had thought that Laurent would have been irritated with him for inviting himself into Laurent’s business, but no sign of impatience showed now.

“I didn’t think that you intended to tell me at all.”

“You play a role in my plans. Naturally, I’d tell you.”

“Of course,” Damen said tartly.

Something flared in Laurent’s eyes very briefly, but Damen could not name it. “Govart keeps a letter with him at all times. It goes wherever he goes. He always puts it at the pocket of his coat or his shirt. I suspect it has to do with my Uncle since he had not been under anyone else’s employ.”

“You think it could have been orders from your Uncle?”

“Or something as important. If it is not about my Uncle, I’m sure it's at least something I can use to force Govart’s hand.”

“How do you plan to take it from him beyond wrestling it out of him if he keeps it so close?”

The twinkle in Laurent’s eyes would have scared anyone. “I remember telling you that Govart likes to stay near brothels.”

“Your contact is a whore?”

“She is actually a spy who moonlights as a whore in a brothel here. It’s a good placement. Men tattle after a bit of alcohol, and women with good hands and tongues can make men say anything. Whores know a lot of secrets, even those of the King’s.”

“You’re going to enter a brothel,” Damen stated.

“ _We_ are entering a brothel as newlyweds who seek a bit more spice in bed.”

It was, Damen decided, such an astonishingly brazen idea that he should not have been surprised Laurent came up with it. “And you could not have asked her through a missive or asked Huet to go in your stead?”

“Huet does not know her. She is my contact alone. Or rather, she was entrusted to me by Talik. I had sent a letter to inform her to expect me. But I wanted to be cautious. There is very little privacy afforded to members of a whorehouse.”

“And you think it’s cautious enough to be seen in the open like this?”

Laurent tilted his head slightly, allowing the firelight to emphasize a well-defined jaw. “If you did not know me, would you think that the Duke of Arles would ever set foot in a brothel masquerading as a lady?”

Damen could not deny the logic in that.

“You are more difficult to disguise, big as you are. But men of your size and your coloring are not that rare. Simply act as someone in authority - a visitor to these parts, but with fortune to spend. And if you’d like, you may lie with my contact. We’re going to have to spend anyway, and I know you have been deprived of women all winter.”

Damen fixed his eyes on Laurent. “You make it sound as if I subsist solely on women.”

“I am simply giving you an opportunity for… release. Besides, I know you like women.”

“Men too,” Damen supplied offhandedly. He watched for Laurent’s reaction, if it would make Laurent decide that sleeping next to Damen was not safe after all, or if Laurent would simply take it in stride.

“In the absence of women?”

Genuine curiosity was not the response Damen had been expecting. “When I find them attractive enough to want them,” Damen said.

Silence hung in the air as Laurent seemed to tuck the information into one corner of his brain. With a loud breath, Laurent pulled the sheets over him and said, “We’re both tired. We should sleep.” And then, “We don’t have to wake up early. I’m sure you know brothels open late in the day. Good night, Damen.” With that, Laurent turned and curled up so that Damen ended up facing Laurent’s back.

Laurent was sitting with his back against the headboard, reading a book with the sheet pooling on his lap when Damen woke up. The sun was already up, and Laurent had parted the curtains to let light in. Considering how stuffed Laurent’s bags had looked, Damen was not even surprised that Laurent had managed to bring a book. Damen lay on his side for a while, feeling lazy and warm, basking in the domesticity of the scene and thinking how he’d like to wake up like this often if Laurent would let him. And then Laurent tore his gaze from the page he was on and said, “Hello.”

“Good morning,” Damen replied, pushing himself to sit up as well.

“It might be time for lunch soon.”

Recognizing the thinly-veiled order, Damen nodded and pushed himself out of bed. He pulled on the shirt he had worn last night and left the room to get some food. Lunch was shepherd’s pie and some fruits, which Damen and Laurent took together.

“Was it really your plan to laze around an inn-room all day while waiting for nightfall?” Damen asked mid-afternoon, when all Laurent had done was read and Damen had already taken a nap after their early lunch. He sat on the table they had used for lunch and looked around. There was nothing much in the form of entertainment. There was no chess set to play with, nor any other book in the room. They had already discussed Laurent’s plan over lunch too, that even that could not be used to occupy the time.

“I did not want to be seen going through towns at daytime,” Laurent said, closing his book and setting it on his lap. “But if you’d like to go to the brothel in broad daylight, we could, of course, go now.”

“No,” Damen answered quickly. “But had I known, I would have brought some work with me.”

“You could have stayed,” Laurent pointed out.

“That is not an option,” Damen said firmly.

“You could wander around -”

“Not in this cold. And I might meet someone who recognizes me. It will spoil your plans.”

“Well then stay bored in my presence,” Laurent proclaimed, picking up his book again. “You could nap again. I’ll just wake you up when it’s time.”

“I’ve slept too much already,” Damen said gruffly, aware of how restless he sounded.

Laurent, who had an eyebrow arched and a corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement, put away his book onto the top of the bedside table, and propped an arm on the edge of the headboard. “Tell me something then,” he said, voice low and clear.

Knitting his brows, Damen asked, “What do you mean?”

Laurent shrugged one shoulder. “You know most of my family’s history, but I hardly know anything about yours.”

Damen took a long time wondering at the motivation behind this, and at the same time feeling guilty. Had he been more honest with Laurent, there would be none of his secrets between them.

Then, taking Damen’s silence for refusal, Laurent reached out for his book. “I only asked to fill in the time.”

“There isn’t much to tell.”

Laurent looked at Damen in the way that he had been looking at Damen lately, his face blank but his eyes glazed, as if something about Damen pulled him deep in his thoughts. “Start with your parents. I assume they have passed on since your brother is usurping your inheritance. But has it been long since?”

“My mother, yes. I don’t remember much about her. But my father died merely months before my brother thought he was going to have his way.”

“And a lover? Lovers?”

Damen clenched his hand into a fist on top of the table. “There was one. I would have married her.”

“Will she receive you if you came back?”

“She is married to my brother now.”

Their conversation continued in the same vein, Laurent asking, Damen answering. To Laurent’s credit and to Damen’s relief, the questions had gotten less into the darker and more private issues of Damen’s life and dwelled more on the places in the South, how it was like to live near the sea, about the customs that were different between the North and the South.

Time slipped by and soon Laurent was saying, “We should get ready.”

Getting ready took a while for Laurent. Damen felt his world tilt when Laurent stepped out of the bathroom. Clad in a shirt with a high neck and a teal dress with a high and narrow waist, Laurent appeared like the woman he was pretending to be, elegant, beautiful. The dress, probably unearthed from the wardrobe of Laurent’s mother, was several years out of fashion (women in the North favored lower necklines these days to show off their bosoms) but the cut, the material and the elaborate detail that went into it spoke of good fortune. It made Laurent seem conservative and classical, as was fitting to the role of a shy, inexperienced, cloistered new bride that he was playing.

When Damen lifted his eyes, he saw that Laurent had let his hair down save for a few braided sections pinned together by floral hair brooch that matched the color of his dress. He again wore the sapphire earrings.

“Wishing you had a wife instead?” Laurent asked briskly.

“Thinking that you might look a bit too respectable to be entering a brothel,” Damen said.

“That is the point, isn’t it? I am the sheltered innocent wife arranged to marry you. I know nothing of sex, and you decided that I should learn from an expert. We are not a love match, but you’d like an heir, and would like to take pleasure in the process too.”

It was a convoluted story, that, Damen hoped, no one would ever inquire about.

They walked down the streets of the town, Laurent subtly leading him through narrow streets and alleyways. Damen had covered his face with a hat, and Laurent had lowered his gaze dutifully down. “Here,” Laurent whispered, tugging Damen’s arm to a door that had a bronze plaque embossed with a single lotus in full bloom. Damen knocked and was welcomed by a woman who, in an odd combination of fashion and eroticism, wore a dress of rich silk that plunged almost to her groin with little else underneath. Her hair had been elegantly coiffed and she smelled dizzyingly of jasmine.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, letting Damen and Laurent.

Their presence understandably earned raised brows from the women arrayed on a couch. Men and women were welcome in places like this, in numbers even, but rarely were lone couples entertained, he was sure. Damen tried not to inhale deeply as they stepped into parlor. The place reeked too much of perfume, tobacco and alcohol.

“I’d like someone who can demonstrate how to service a man.”

“Demonstrate?” the lady, who must be the proprietor, asked.

“My wife is sadly inexperienced.” As if to emphasize his shame, Laurent buried his face behind Damen’s arm.

“Ahh,” the owner said. “Well, all my girls should be able to do what you want. You’ll just have to choose, sir.”

She led them deeper into the parlor where more couches and more women waited. They eyed Damen appraisingly, some more openly than others, staring at him with wide eyes and leaning forward when he passed so that he had a better view of their chests. This was a huge collection of women of different colorings and different body types - one of them disturbingly looked and dressed like a girl. Damen tried to ignore all of them. With Laurent hanging close and gripping his arm uncomfortably tight, that was easy enough. At the corner, sitting quietly with mild, lazy interest, Damen saw the contact Laurent had described earlier: tall, full-bodied, dark hair, dark eyes, rosy skin. “That one at the corner,” Damen told the proprietress.

“Kashel!”

Laurent’s contact - Kashel, as she was being called here - approached them. Her deep black hair cascaded down to her waist, and she stood nearly as tall as Laurent.

“The jade room,” the proprietess said, and soon they were traipsing off down a thickly carpeted hallway and to a door that led to a room with furnishings richer than most inns Damen was used to. There was an assortment of wine on a rack near the door, and the fire burned high and warm.

Kashel softly closed the door and locked it behind her, gesturing Damen and Laurent to a couch near the fire. “Wine?” she asked, plucking a bottle out of the rack.

“He’ll take wine. I’ll have water,” Laurent said, sitting mannishly on the couch. Damen settled next to him.

Kashel poured wine into two goblets, water into another, and she brought the drinks in a tray to a low table in front of Damen and Laurent. “Is this your husband, Your Grace?” she asked, now studying Damen, who just picked up a goblet of wine. “You never said he was coming along.”

“Yes,” Laurent said flatly. “Are you sure Govart will come tonight?”

Kashel slowly dragged her eyes away from Damen and nodded. “He’s been here the past three nights. There’s no reason he should not come tonight. And I have been able to keep him interested. He won’t be looking for anyone else in a while.”

“What time does he visit?”

“Usually near midnight. He leaves after a few hours, just before daybreak.”

“Then Damen can come back at dawn, pretending how you have been completely satisfactory that he leaves his wife’s bed for you. You’ll give him the letter in the morning, and he’ll meet me on the way back.”

“You brought the replica?” Kashel asked.

Laurent slipped a hand under the chest of his dress and pulled out a parchment, yellowing and battered with age, which Kashel tucked into her bodice. “I had my man describe it for me. It will buy us time until Govart discovers the real letter has been taken away from him.”

“And when he discovers it?” Damen asked.

“I was thinking of leaving this place. Your Duke here pays handsomely.” She grinned at Damen. “I suppose I could tell them you offered me a place in your household. To keep teaching your wife.”

The insinuation made Damen grimace over his goblet.

“Will you really not make use of the time you bought with me?” Kashel asked.

This was blatant flirtation, and, in the past, Damen would not have declined. Kashel was attractive and inarguably experienced. But with Laurent constantly on his mind, Damen did not think he would be able to derive real pleasure out of sleeping with a woman, or with anyone else, any time soon.

“I see you keep a tight leash on your husband, Your Grace.”

“I gave him leave to sleep with you if he likes, but it seems he is not in the mood tonight.”

“A shame,” Kashel said, fixing her dark eyes on Damen. “In Vask, you would be sent straight to the coupling fire.”

“He does have the the size to breed warriors,” Laurent remarked.

Irritated, Damen pointedly drained his goblet and poured himself another.

Letting out a small, coquettish laugh, Kashel changed the topic. “How has my cousin been, Your Grace?”

“Talik is well.”

Kashel and Laurent exchanged news from everywhere in the Kingdom. Damen listened intently, especially when his brother was brought up. It almost seemed, Kashel had said, that the Southern Lords were going to put in their support for Kastor’s dispute against a distant relative. But, Kashel had added, for some reason, the faction that was against Kastor were being more vocal about their arguments and had delayed the court proceeding.

“You would be attending Court then, Your Grace. Would you give your vote in favor of Kastor?”

“Do you know of the circumstances surrounding Damianos’ death?”

“His body was never found. The Earl of Delpha even searched parts of Vask in the hope of finding him, but was obviously not successful. Not a lot of people believe Kastor was innocent. Lady Jokaste’s role in it is not clear.”

Laurent nodded. “Damianos was my brother’s friend. I cannot vote in favor of Kastor.”

The sentiment, despite Laurent’s matter-of-fact tone, touched Damen. He wished now, more than ever, that he had told Laurent the truth. Nikandros was right; Laurent - at least in Auguste’s name - would willingly come to Damianos Akielon’s aid. He would tell Laurent, he decided, once they were back in the manor.

They left the brothel a couple of hours later, with Damen trying to look happily spent while Laurent pretended to be an overwhelmed, flustered young woman. They ate, washed up and packed before finally taking some shuteye for their early morning the next day. Laurent was, as expected, the first to rise.

Under the ruse that they had to leave early in order to reach their destination by nightfall, Laurent and Damen paid for they stay and left the inn towards the woods in the outskirt of town. Laurent was to stay there, in a barn they had discovered on the way to Varenne, and wait for Damen.

Damen traversed the streets to the brothel with his head down and the hood of his cloak up even though the sun had not even started to peek at the sky. He did not want to meet anyone’s eyes for fear of being recognized, especially given his size. The brothel owner did not seem surprised that he had come back and was business-like as she called for Kashel to lead him back into the jade room.

“Do you have the letter?” Damen asked as soon as Kashel had locked the door.

“Of course. But why hurry? It would seem suspicious if you left right away,” Kashel said, eyeing him meaningfully. She sat on the edge of the bed. The silk dressing gown that hugged her form went up mid-thigh as she crossed her legs.

She was right, of course. He was paying for time with her, and it would be an embarrassment for him to leave in half an hour.

“For a spy,” Damen said, sitting on an armchair facing the bed, “You seem to enjoy this line of work.”

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t,” Kashel replied. “And you are a well-made man. Is your husband even aware of that?”

In all honesty, Damen did not know the answer. He knew Laurent looked at him sometimes with deep, studious regard, but that was how Laurent looked at most things if not with bored indifference. At least, he supposed, he did not inspire animosity in Laurent.

“No?” Kashel asked.

Damen did not reply. He was not going to give any information to this Vaskian spy more than she already knew.

“Loyal to the Duke of Arles, aren’t you?” Kashel asked. She slipped her fingers inside her robes, revealing fine skin, and flung a folded piece of parchment towards him.

He grabbed for it mid-air. Laurent had neither given him permission nor forbidden him to peruse Govart’s letter. Out of respect for Laurent, he tucked the letter into the safety of his coat.

“Very well. If you’re sure you have no more use for me, I’d like to take a nap. Govart is not the easiest man to deal with,” Kashel said, lifting her legs into the bed and shifting the sheets around.

“Go on,” Damen said.

Kashel was still asleep when Damen left to rejoin Laurent.

**to be continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be perfectly honest, I thought of Laurent talking to Auguste’s tomb even before Summer Palace came out. I always thought he was the type. But the wrestling here may have an influence from, well, Laurent learning wrestling.
> 
> Also, I wanted to put up something about Charls here but out of respect for the Charls short story (which was hilarious and sweet, by the way) I decided to delay it. Hahaha. Comments are welcome. I appreciate them even if I take ages to reply. Sorry about that. (But aaaaahh Charls short story just validated a few of my Damen/Laurent... - mostly Damen's looks - headcanons. It's beautiful.)


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